ftitoergifce  <£&itiott 


THE  WRITINGS  OF  BRET  HARTE 

VOLUME  I 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 
AND   OTHER   TALES 


WITH   CONDENSED   NOVELS,  SPANISH 

AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS,  AND 

EARLIER  PAPERS 


BY 

BRET   HARTE 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT    l37I,    1899   AND    IQOO   BY   BRET   HARTK 
COPYRIGHT    1871    AND    1872    BY  JAMES   R.    OSGOOD    «:     CO 

COPYRIGHT    1878    BY    HOUGHTON,   OSGOOD    AND    CO. 

COPYRIGHT    1896   AND    1906    BY    HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN    AND    CO. 

COPYRIGHT    1920    BY    ANNA    BRET    HAKTB 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE 

In  1882,  it  was  felt  to  be  desirable  that  Mr.  Harte's 
scattered  work  should  be  brought  together  in  convenient 
form,  and  the  result  was  a  compact  edition  of  five  volumes. 
After  that  date,  as  before,  he  continued  to  produce  poems, 
tales,  sketches,  and  romances  in  steady  succession,  and  in 
1897  his  publishers  undertook  a  uniform  and  orderly  pre 
sentation  of  the  results  of  more  than  thirty  years  of  his 
literary  activity.  The  fourteen  volumes  that  embodied  those 
results  were  enriched  by  Introductions  and  a  Glossary  pre 
pared  by  Mr.  Harte  himself. 

The  present  Riverside  Edition  is  based  on  the  collection 
made  in  1897,  but  is  enlarged  by  the  inclusion  of  later 
work. 

Boston,  4  Park  Street,  Autumn,  1903. 


M138371 


CONTENTS 

PA« 

GBNERAL  INTRODUCTION xi 

THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP  AND  OTHER  SKETCHES. 

THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP .  1 

THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 14 

HIGGLES .       .  27 

TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 41 

THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH 53 

BROWN  OF  C.ALAVERAS 86 

CONDENSED  NOVELS. 

MUCK-A-MUCK  :  A  MODERN  INDIAN  NOVEL      ....  78 

SELINA  SEDILIA #6 

THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN 95 

Miss  Mix 103 

MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY  :  A  NAVAL  OFFICER      .       .       .  i!3 

GUY  HEAVYSTONE  ;  OR,  "ENTIRE:"  A  MUSCULAR  NOVEL  .  122 

JOHN  JENKINS  ;  OR,  THE  SMOKER  REFORMED  ....  130 

FANTINE.    AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  VICTOR  HUGO       .        .  136 

"  LA  FEMME."    AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  M.  MICHELET         .  142 

THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD 147 

N  N. :  BEING  A  NOVEL  IN  THE  FRENCH  PARAGRAPHIC  STYL*  153 

No  TITLE 158 

HANDSOME  is  AS  HANDSOME  DOES 167 

LOTHAW  ;  OR,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  «N 

SEARCH  OF  A  RELIGION 178 

THE  HAUNTED  MAN  :  A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  ....  188 

TERENCK  DENVILLE 197 

MARY  McGiLLUP 204 

THE  HOODLUM    BAND  ;  OR,    THE    BOY  CHIEF,   THE  INFANT 
POLITICIAN,  AND  THE  PIRATE  PRODIGY         .       .       .       .213 

EARLIER  SKETCHES. 

M'LISS  :  AN  IDYL  OF  RED  MOUNTAIN. 

I.  SMITH'S  POCKET 234 

II.  WHICH  CONTAINS  A  DREAM  or  THE  JUST  ARISTIDES  .  243 


Viii  CONTENTS 

III.  UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE 252 

IV.  WHICH  HAS  A  GOOD  MORAL  TENDENCY      .        .        .  260 
V.   "OPEN  SESAME" 270 

VI.   THE  TRIALS  OF  MRS.  MORPHER 278 

VII.   THE  PEOPLE  vs.  JOHN  DOE  WATERS         ...  287 

VIII.   THE  AUTHOR  TO  THE  READER  —  EXPLANATORY         .  298 

IX.  CLEANING  UP 301 

X.  THE  RED  ROCK 311 

HIGH-WATER  MARK 322 

A  LONELY  RIDE 332 

THE  MAN  OF  No  ACCOUNT 339 

NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD 345 

WAITING  FOR  THE  SHIP  :  A  FORT  POINT  IDYL    .        .        .  371 

A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM         .  374 

SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO 382 

THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER 398 

THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT 408 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO  :  A  LEGEND  OF  SAN 

FRANCISCO 417 

THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER  :  A  MEDIAEVAL  LEGEND      .  425 
THE  OGRESS  OF   SILVER  LAND  ;  OR,  THE  DIVERTING  HIS 
TORY  OF  PRINCE  BADFELLAH  AND  PRINCE  BULLEBOYE     .  430 
THB  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT  :  A  STORY 
FOB  LITTLE  SOLDIERS    .                       437 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

THE  opportunity  here  offered 1  to  give  some  account  of 
the  genesis  of  these  Californian  sketches,  and  the  condi 
tions  under  which  they  were  conceived,  is  peculiarly  tempt 
ing  to  an  author  who  has  been  obliged  to  retain  a  decent 
professional  reticence  under  a  cloud  of  ingenious  surmise, 
theory,  and  misinterpretation.  He  very  gladly  seizes  this 
opportunity  to  establish  the  chronology  of  the  sketches, 
and  incidentally  to  show  that  what  are  considered  the 
"happy  accidents"  of  literature  are  very  apt  to  be  the 
results  of  quite  logical  and  often  prosaic  processes. 

The  author's  first  volume  was  published  in  1865  in  a 
thin  book  of  verse,  containing,  besides  the  titular  poem, 
"The  Lost  Galleon,"  various  patriotic  contributions  to  the 
lyrics  of  the  Civil  War,  then  raging,  and  certain  better 
known  humorous  pieces,  which  have  been  hitherto  inter 
spersed  with  his  later  poems  in  separate  volumes,  but  are 
now  restored  to  their  former  companionship.  This  was 
followed  in  1867  by  "The  Condensed  Novels,"  originally 
contributed  to  the  "San  Francisco  Californian,"  a  journal 
then  edited  by  the  author,  and  a  number  of  local  sketches 
entitled  "Bohemian  Papers,"  making  a  single  not  very 
plethoric  volume,  the  author's  first  book  of  prose.  But  he 
deems  it  worthy  of  consideration  that  during  this  period, 
i.  e.  from  1862  to  1866,  he  produced  "The  Society  upon 
the  Stanislaus"  and  "The  Story  of  M'liss,"  — the  first  a 
dialectical  poem,  the  second  a  Californian  romance,  —  his 

1  By  the  appearance  in  England  several  years  ago  of  an  edition  of  the 
author's  writings  as  then  collected. 


xii  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

first  efforts  toward  indicating  a  peculiarly  characteristic 
Western  American  literature.  He  would  like  to  offer 
these  facts  as  evidence  of  his  very  early,  half -boyish  but 
very  enthusiastic  belief  in  such  a  possibility,  —  a  belief 
which  never  deserted  him,  and  which,  a  few  years  later, 
from  the  better- known  pages  of  "The  Overland  Monthly," 
he  was  able  to  demonstrate  to  a  larger  and  more  cosmopoli 
tan  audience  in  the  story  of  "  The  Luck  of  Bearing  Camp  " 
and  the  poem  of  the  "Heathen  Chinee."  But  it  was  one 
of  the  anomalies  of  the  very  condition  of  life  that  he 
worked  amidst,  and  endeavored  to  portray,  that  these  first 
efforts  were  rewarded  by  very  little  success;  and,  as  he 
will  presently  show,  even  "  The  Luck  of  Bearing  Camp  " 
depended  for  its  recognition  in  California  upon  its  success 
elsewhere.  Hence  the  critical  reader  will  observe  that  the 
bulk  of  these  earlier  efforts,  as  shown  in  the  first  two  vol- 
umes,  were  marked  by  very  little  flavor  of  the  soil,  but 
were  addressed  to  an  audience  half  foreign  in  their  sym 
pathies,  and  still  imbued  with  Eastern  or  New  England 
habits  and  literary  traditions.  "Home"  was  still  potent 
with  these  voluntary  exiles  in  their  moments  of  relaxation. 
Eastern  magazines  and  current  Eastern  literature  formed 
their  literary  recreation,  and  the  sale  of  the  better  class  of 
periodicals  was  singularly  great.  Nor  was  the  taste  con 
fined  to  American  literature.  The  illustrated  and  satirical 
English  journals  were  as  frequently  seen  in  California  as 
in  Massachusetts ;  and  the  author  records  that  he  has  ex 
perienced  more  difficulty  in  procuring  a  copy  of  "Punch" 
in  an  English  provincial  town  than  was  his  fortune  at 
"Bed  Dog"  or  "One-Horse  Gulch."  An  audience  thus 
liberally  equipped  and  familiar  with  the  best  modern  writ 
ers  was  naturally  critical  and  exacting,  and  no  one  appre 
ciates  more  than  he  does  the  salutary  effects  of  this  severe 
discipline  upon  his  earlier  efforts. 

When    the  first  number   of   "The  Overland  Monthly" 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION  xiii 

appeared,  the  author,  then  its  editor,  called  the  publisher's 
attention  to  the  lack  of  any  distinctive  Californian  romance 
in  its  pages,  and  averred  that,  should  no  other  contribu 
tion  come  in,  he  himself  would  supply  the  omission  in  the 
next  number.  No  other  contribution  was  offered,  arid  the 
author,  having  the  plot  and  general  idea  already  in  his 
mind,  in  a  few  days  sent  the  manuscript  of  "The  Luck  of 
Roaring  Camp  "  to  the  printer.  He  had  not  yet  received 
the  proof-sheets  when  he  was  suddenly  summoned  to  the 
office  of  the  publisher,  whom  he  found  standing  the  picture 
of  dismay  and  anxiety  with  the  proof  before  him.  The 
indignation  and  stupefaction  of  the  author  can  be  well  un 
derstood  when  he  was  told  that  the  printer,  instead  of 
yeturning  the  proofs  to  him,  submitted  them  to  the  pub 
lisher,  with  the  emphatic  declaration  that  the  matter 
thereof  was  so  indecent,  irreligious,  and  improper  that 
his  proof-reader  —  a  young  lady  —  had  with  difficulty  been 
induced  to  continue  its  perusal,  and  that  he,  as  a  friend  of 
the  publisher  and  a  well-wisher  of  the  magazine,  was  im 
pelled  to  present  to  him  personally  this  shameless  evidence 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  editor  was  imperilling  the 
future  of  that  enterprise.  It  should  be  premised  that  the 
critic  was  a  man  of  character  and  standing,  the  head  of  a 
large  printing  establishment,  a  church  member,  and,  the 
author  thinks,  a  deacon.  In  which  circumstances  the  pub 
lisher  frankly  admitted  to  the  author  that,  while  he  could 
not  agree  with  all  of  the  printer's  criticisms,  he  thought 
the  story  open  to  grave  objection,  and  its  publication  of 
doubtful  expediency. 

Believing  only  that  he  was  the  victim  of  some  extraor 
dinary  typographical  blunder,  the  author  at  once  sat  down 
and  read  the  proof.  In  its  new  dress,  with  the  metamor 
phosis  of  type,  —  that  metamorphosis  which  every  writer  so 
well  knows  changes  his  relations  to  it  and  makes  it  no 
longer  seem  a  part  of  himself,  —  he  was  able  to  read  it  with 


xiv  GENERAX.  INTRODUCTION 

something  of  the  freshness  of  an  untold  tale.  As  he  read 
on  he  found  himself  affected,  even  as  he  had  been  affected 
in  the  conception  and  writing  of  it  —  a  feeling  so  incom 
patible  with  the  charges  against  it,  that  he  could  only  lay 
it  down  and  declare  emphatically,  albeit  hopelessly,  that 
he  could  really  see  nothing  objectionable  in  it.  Other 
opinions  were  sought  and  given.  To  the  author's  surprise, 
he  found  himself  in  the  minority.  Finally,  the  story  was 
submitted  to  three  gentlemen  of  culture  and  experience, 
friends  of  publisher  and  author,  —  who  were  unable,  how 
ever,  to  come  to  any  clear  decision.  It  was,  however, 
suggested  to  the  author  that,  assuming  the  natural  hypo 
thesis  that  his  editorial  reasoning  might  be  warped  by  his 
literary  predilections  in  a  consideration  of  one  of  his  own 
productions,  a  personal  sacrifice  would  at  this  juncture 
be  in  the  last  degree  heroic.  This  last  suggestion  had 
the  effect  of  ending  all  further  discussion,  for  he  at  once 
informed  the  publisher  that  the  question  of  the  propriety 
of  the  story  was  no  longer  at  issue:  the  only  question  was 
of  his  capacity  to  exercise  the  proper  editorial  judgment; 
and  that  unless  he  was  permitted  to  test  that  capacity  by 
the  publication  of  the  story,  and  abide  squarely  by  the 
result,  he  must  resign  his  editorial  position.  The  pub 
lisher,  possibly  struck  with  the  author's  confidence,  pos 
sibly  from  kindliness  of  disposition  to  a  younger  man, 
yielded,  and  "  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp  "  was  published 
in  the  current  number  of  the  magazine  for  which  it  was 
written,  as  it  was  written,  without  emendation,  omission, 
alteration,  or  apology.  A  not  inconsiderable  part  of  the 
grotesqueness  of  the  situation  was  the  feeling,  which  the 
author  retained  throughout  the  whole  affair,  of  the  perfect 
sincerity,  good  faith,  and  seriousness  of  his  friend's  —  the 
printer's  —  objection,  and  for  many  days  thereafter  he  was 
haunted  by  a  consideration  of  the  sufferings  of  this  consci 
entious  man,  obliged  to  assist  materially  in  disseminating 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION  XV 

the  dangerous  and  subversive  doctrines  contained  in  this 
baleful  fiction.  What  solemn  protests  must  have  been  laid 
with  the  ink  on  the  rollers  and  impressed  upon  those 
wicked  sheets!  what  pious  warnings  must  have  been 
secretly  folded  and  stitched  in  that  number  of  "The  Over 
land  Monthly  " !  Across  the  chasm  of  years  and  distance 
the  author  stretches  forth  the  hand  of  sympathy  and  for 
giveness,  not  forgetting  the  gentle  proof-reader,  that  chaste 
and  unknown  nymph,  whose  mantling  cheeks  and  downcast 
eyes  gave  the  first  indications  of  warning. 

But  the  troubles  of  the  "Luck"  were  far  from  ended. 
It  had  secured  an  entrance  into  the  world,  but,  like  its 
own  hero,  it  was  born  with  an  evil  reputation,  and  to  a 
community  that  had  yet  to  learn  to  love  it.  The  secular 
press,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  received  it  coolly,  and 
referred  to  its  "  singularity ;  "  the  religious  press  frantically 
excommunicated  it,  and  anathematized  it  as  the  offspring 
of  evil ;  the  high  promise  of  "  The  Overland  Monthly  "  was 
said  to  have  been  ruined  by  its  birth;  Christians  were 
cautioned  against  pollution  by  its  contact;  practical  busi 
ness  men  were  gravely  urged  to  condemn  and  frown  upon 
is  picture  of  Calif ornian  society  that  was  not  conducive 
to  Eastern  immigration;  its  hapless  author  was  held  up  to 
obloquy  as  a  man  who  had  abused  a  sacred  trust.  If  its 
life  and  reputation  had  depended  on  its  reception  in  Cali 
fornia,  this  edition  and  explanation  would  alike  have  been 
i  needless.  But,  fortunately,  the  young  "  Overland  Monthly  " 
had  in  its  first  number  secured  a  hearing  and  position 
throughout  the  American  Union,  and  the  author  waited 
the  larger  verdict.  The  publisher,  albeit  his  worst  fears 
were  confirmed,  was  not  a  man  to  weakly  regret  a  position 
he  had  once  taken,  and  waited  also.  The  return  mail 
from  the  East  brought  a  letter  addressed  to  the  "Editor 
of  the  '  Overland  Monthly, '  "  enclosing  a  letter  from  Fields, 
Osgood  &  Co.,  the  publishers  of  "The  Atlantic  Monthly," 


Xvi  GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

addressed  to  the  —  to  them  —  unknown  "Author  of  *  The 
Luck  of  Roaring  Camp. ' }  This  the  author  opened,  and 
found  to  be  a  request,  upon  the  most  nattering  terms,  for 
a  story  for  the  "Atlantic"  similar  to  the  "Luck."  The 
same  mail  brought  newspapers  and  reviews  welcoming  the 
little  foundling  of  Californian  literature  with  an  enthusiasm 
that  half  frightened  its  author;  but  with  the  placing  of 
that  letter  in  the  hands  of  the  publisher,  who  chanced  to 
be  standing  by  his  side,  and  who  during  those  dark  days 
had,  without  the  author's  faith,  sustained  the  author's 
position,  he  felt  that  his  compensation  was  full  and  com 
plete. 

Thus  encouraged,  "The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp"  was 
followed  by  "The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,"  "Miggles," 
"Tennessee's  Partner,"  and  those  various  other  characters 
who  had  impressed  the  author  when,  a  mere  truant  school- 
boy,  he  had  lived  among  them.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
say  to  any  observer  of  human  nature  that  at  this  time  he 
was  advised  by  kind  and  well-meaning  friends  to  content 
himself  with  the  success  of  the  "Luck,"  and  not  tempt 
criticism  again;  or  that  from  that  moment  ever  after  he 
was  in  receipt  of  that  equally  sincere  contemporaneous 
criticism  which  assured  him  gravely  that  each  successive 
story  was  a  falling  off  from  the  last.  Howbeit,  by  rein- 
vigorated  confidence  in  himself  and  some  conscientious 
industry,  he  managed  to  get  together  in  a  year  six  or  eight 
of  these  sketches,  which,  in  a  volume  called  "The  Luck 
of  Roaring  Camp  and  Other  Sketches,"  gave  him  that 
encouragement  in  America  and  England  that  has  since 
seemed  to  justify  him  in  swelling  these  records  of  a  pic 
turesque  passing  civilization  into  the  compass  of  the  present 
edition. 

A  few  words  regarding  the  peculiar  conditions  of  life 
Mid  society  that  are  here  rudely  sketched,  and  often  but 
barely  outlined.  The  author  is  aware  that,  partly  from 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION  xvii 

a  habit  of  thought  and  expression,  partly  from  the  exigen 
cies  of  brevity  in  his  narratives,  and  partly  from  the  habit 
of  addressing  an  audience  familar  with  the  local  scenery, 
he  often  assumes,  as  premises  already  granted  by  the  reader, 
the  existence  of  a  peculiar  and  romantic  state  of  civiliza 
tion,  the  like  of  which  few  English  readers  are  inclined 
accept  without  corroborative  facts  and  figures.  These  he 
could  only  give  by  referring  to  the  ephemeral  records  of 
Calif ornian  journals  of  that  date,  and  the  testimony  of  far- 
scattered  witnesses,  survivors  of  the  exodus  of  1849.  He 
must  beg  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  this  emigration 
was  either  across  a  continent  almost  unexplored,  or  by  the 
way  of  a  long  and  dangerous  voyage  around  Cape  Horn, 
and  that  the  promised  land  itself  presented  the  singular 
spectacle  of  a  patriarchal  Latin  race  who  had  been  left  to 
themselves,  forgotten  by  the  world,  for  nearly  three  hun 
dred  years.  The  faith,  courage,  vigor,  youth,  and  capacity 
for  adventure  necessary  to  this  emigration  produced  a  body 
of  men  as  strongly  distinctive  as  the  companions  of  Jason. 
Unlike  most  pioneers,  the  majority  were  men  of  profession 
and  education;  all  were  young,  and  all  had  staked  their 
future  in  the  enterprise.  Critics  who  have  taken  large 
and  exhaustive  views  of  mankind  and  society  from  club 
"windows  in  Pall  Mall  or  the  Fifth  Avenue  can  only  accept 
\'or  granted  the  turbulent  chivalry  that  thronged  the  streets 
>f  San  Francisco  in  the  gala  days  of  her  youth,  and  must 
•cad  the  blazon  of  their  deeds  like  the  doubtful  quarterings 
of  the  shield  of  Amadis  de  Gaul.  The  author  has  been 
frequently  asked  if  such  and  such  incidents  were  real,  —  if 
he  had  ever  met  such  and  such  characters.  To  this  he 
must  return  the  one  answer,  that  in  only  a  single  instance 
was  he  conscious  of  drawing  purely  from  his  imagination^""" 
and  fancy  for  a  character  and  a  logical  succession  of  inci 
dents  drawn  therefrom.  A  few  weeks  after  his  story  was 
published,  he  received  a  letter,  authentically  signed,  cor- 


xviii  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

recting  some  of  the  minor  details  of  his  facts  ( !),  and 
enclosing  as  corroborative  evidence  a  slip  from  an  old  news 
paper,  wherein  the  main  incident  of  his  supposed  fanciful 
creation  was  recorded  with  a  largeness  of  statement  that  far 
transcended  his  powers  of  imagination. 

He  has  been  repeatedly  cautioned,  kindly  and  unkindly, 
intelligently  and  unintelligently,  against  his  alleged  ten 
dency  to  confuse  recognized  standards  of  morality  by  ex 
tenuating  lives  of  recklessness,  and  often  criminality,  with 
a  single  solitary  virtue.  He  might  easily  show  that  he 
has  never  written  a  sermon,  that  he  has  never  moralized 
or  commented  upon  the  actions  of  his  heroes,  that  he  has 
never  voiced  a  creed  or  obtrusively  demonstrated  an  ethi 
cal  opinion.  He  might  easily  allege  that  this  merciful 
effect  of  his  art  arose  from  the  reader's  weak  human  sym 
pathies,  and  hold  himself  irresponsible.  But  he  would  be 
conscious  of  a  more  miserable  weakness  in  thus  divorcing 
himself  from  his  fellow-men  who  in  the  domain  of  art 
must  ever  walk  hand  in  hand  with  him.  So  he  prefers  te 
say  that,  of  all  the  various  forms  in  which  Cant  presents 
itself  to  suffering  humanity,  he  knows  of  none  so  out 
rageous,  so  illogical,  so  undemonstrable,  so  marvelously 
absurd,  as  the  Cant  of  "Too  Much  Mercy."  When  it  shall 
be  proven  to  him  that  communities  are  degraded  and 
brought  to  guilt  and  crime,  suffering  or  destitution,  from 
a  predominance  of  this  quality ;  when  he  shall  see  pardoned 
ticket-of-leave  men  elbowing  men  of  austere  lives  out  of 
situation  and  position,  and  the  repentant  Magdalen  sup 
planting  the  blameless  virgin  in  society,  —  then  he  will  lay 
aside  his  pen  and  extend  his  hand  to  the  new  Draconian 
discipline  in  fiction.  But  until  then  he  will,  without 
claiming  to  be  a  religious  man  or  a  moralist,  but  simply  as 
an  artist,  reverently  and  humbly  conform  to  the  rules  laid 
down  by  a  Great  Poet  who  created  the  parable  of  the 
" Prodigal  Son"  and  the  "Good  Samaritan,"  whose  works 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION  xix 

have  lasted  eighteen  hundred  years,  and  will  remain  when 
the  present  writer  and  his  generation  are  forgotten.  And 
he  is  conscious  of  uttering  no  original  doctrine  in  this,  but 
of  only  voicing  the  beliefs  of  a  few  of  his  literary  brethren 
happily  living,  and  one  gloriously  dead,  who  never  made 
proclamation  of  this  "from  the  housetops." 


THE    LUCK    OF   KOARING   CAMP,   AND 
OTHER  STORIES  AND  SKETCHES 


THE   LUCK   OF  ROARING  CAMP 

THERE  was  commotion  in  Roaring  Camp.  It  could  not 
have  been  a  fight,  for  in  1850  that  was  not  novel  enough  to 
have  called  together  the  entire  settlement.  The  ditches  and 
claims  were  not  only  deserted,  but  "  Tuttle's  grocery  "  had 
contributed  its  gamblers,  who,  it  will  be  remembered, 
calmly  continued  their  game  the  day  that  French  Pete  and 
Kanaka  Joe  shot  each  other  to  death  over  the  bar  in  the 
front  room.  The  whole  camp  was  collected  before  a  rude 
cabin  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  clearing.  Conversation  was 
carried  on  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  name  of  a  woman  was 
irequently  repeated.  It  was  a  name  familiar  enough  in 
the  camp,  —  "  Cherokee  Sal." 

Perhaps  the  less  said  of  her  the  better.  She  was  a 
coarse  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  very  sinful  woman.  But  at 
that  time  she  was  the  only  woman  in  Roaring  Camp,  and 
was  just  then  lying  in  sore  extremity,  when  she  most 
needed  the  ministration  of  her  own  sex.  Dissolute,  aban 
doned,  and  irreclaimable,  she  was  yet  suffering  a  martyrdom 
hard  enough  to  bear  even  when  veiled  by  sympathizing 
womanhood,  but  now  terrible  in  her  loneliness.  The  primal 
curse  had  come  to  her  in  that  original  isolation  which  must 
have  made  the  punishment  of  the  first  transgression  so 
ireadful.  It  was,  perhaps,  part  of  the  expiation  of  her  sin 


2  THE   LUCK   OF   ROARING   CAMP 

ihat,  at  a  moment  when  she  most  lacked  her  sex's  intuitive 
tenderness  and  care,  she  met  only  the  half-contemptuous 
faces  of  her  masculine  associates.  Yet  a  few  of  the  specta 
tors  were,  I  think,  touched  by  her  sufferings.  Sandy  Tipton 
thought  it  was  "  rough  on  Sal,"  and,  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  condition,  for  a  moment  rose  superior  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  an  ace  and  two  bowers  in  his  sleeve. 

It  will  be  seen  also  that  the  situation  was  novel. 
Deaths  were  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Roaring  Camp,  but 
a  birth  was  a  new  thing.  People  had  been  dismissed  the 
camp  effectively,  finally,  and  with  no  possibility  of  return ; 
but  this  was  the  first  time  that  anybody  had  been  introduced 
ab  initio.  Hence  the  excitement. 

"  You  go  in  there,  Stumpy,"  said  a  prominent  citizen 
known  as  "  Kentuck,"  addressing  one  of  the  loungers. 
"  Go  in  there,  and  see  what  you  kin  do.  You  've  had 
experience  in  them  things." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  fitness  in  the  selection.  Stumpy,  in 
other  climes,  had  been  the  putative  head  of  two  families ; 
in  fact,  it  was  owing  to  some  legal  informality  in  these 
proceedings  that  Roaring  Camp  —  a  city  of  refuge  —  was 
indebted  to  his  company.  The  crowd  approved  the  choice, 
and  Stumpy  was  wise  enough  to  bow  to  the  majority.  The 
door  closed  on  the  extempore  surgeon  and  midwife,  and 
Roaring  Camp  sat  down  outside,  smoked  its  pipe,  and 
awaited  the  issue. 

The  assemblage  numbered  about  a  hundred  men.  One 
or  two  of  these  were  actual  fugitives  from  justice,  some 
were  criminal,  and  all  were  reckless.  Physically  they 
exhibited  no  indication  of  their  past  lives  and  character. 
The  greatest  scamp  had  a  Raphael  face,  with  a  profusion  of 
blonde  hair ;  Oakhurst,  a  gambler,  had  the  melancholy  air 
and  intellectual  abstraction  of  a  Hamlet ;  the  coolest  and 
most  courageous  man  was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in  height, 
With  a  soft  voice  and  an  embarrassed,  timid  manner.  The 


THE   LUCK   OF   ROARING   CAMP  3 

term  "  roughs  "  applied  to  them  was  a  distinction  rathel 
than  a  definition.  Perhaps  in  the  minor  details  of  fingers, 
toes,  ears,  etc.,  the  camp  may  have  been  deficient,  but  these 
slight  omissions  did  not  detract  from  their  aggregate  force. 
The  strongest  man  had  but  three  fingers  on  his  right  hand ; 
the  best  shot  had  but  one  eye. 

Such  was  the  physical  aspect  of  the  men  that  were  dis 
persed  around  the  cabin.  The  camp  lay  in  a  triangular 
valley  between  two  hills  and  a  river.  The  only  outlet  \vas 
a  steep  trail  over  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  faced  the  cabin, 
now  illuminated  by  the  rising  moon.  The  suffering  woman 
might  have  seen  it  from  the  rude  bunk  whereon  she  lay,  — 
seen  it  winding  like  a  silver  thread  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
stars  above. 

A  fire  of  withered  pine  boughs  added  sociability  to  the 
gathering.  By  degrees  the  natural  levity  of  Roaring  Camp 
returned.  Bets  were  freely  offered  and  taken  regarding  the 
result.  Three  to  five  that  "  Sal  would  get  through  with 
it ;  "  even  that  the  child  would  survive  ;  side  bets  as  to  the 
sex  and  complexion  of  the  coming  stranger.  In  the  midst 
of  an  excited  discussion  an  exclamation  came  from  those 
nearest  the  door,  and  the  camp  stopped  to  listen.  Above 
the  swaying  and  moaning  of  the  pines,  the  swift  rush  of  the 
river,  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire  rose  a  sharp,  querulous 
crV)  —  a  cry  unlike  anything  heard  before  in  the  camp. 
The  pines  stopped  moaning,  the  river  ceased  to  rush,  and 
the  fire  to  crackle.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature  had  stopped  to 
wsten  too. 

The  camp  rose  to  its  feet  as  one  man  !  It  was  proposed 
to  explode  a  barrel  of  gunpowder;  but  in  consideration  of 
the  situation  of  the  mother,  better  counsels  prevailed,  and 
only  a  few  revolvers  were  discharged ;  for  whether  owing 
to  the  rude  surgery  of  the  camp,  or  some  other  reason, 
Cherokee  Sal  was  sinking  fast.  Within  an  hour  she  had 
limbed,  as  io  were,  that  rugged  road  that  led  to  the  stars, 


4  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 

and  so  passed  out  of  Koaring  Camp,  its  sin  and  shame,  for- 
ever.  I  do  not  think  that  the  announcement  disturbed  them 
much,  except  in  speculation  as  to  the  fate  of  the  child. 
"  Can  he  live  now  ?  "  was  asked  of  Stumpy.  The  answer 
was  doubtful.  The  only  other  being  of  Cherokee  Sal's  sex 
and  maternal  condition  in  the  settlement  was  an  ass. 
There  was  some  conjecture  as  to  fitness,  but  the  experiment 
was  tried.  It  was  less  problematical  than  the  ancient  treat 
ment  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  and  apparently  as  success 
ful. 

When  these  details  were  completed,  which  exhausted 
another  hour,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  anxious  crowd 
of  men,  who  had  already  formed  themselves  into  a  queue, 
entered  in  single  file.  Beside  the  low  bunk  or  shelf,  on 
which  the  figure  of  the  mother  was  starkly  outlined  below 
the  blankets,  stood  a  pine  table.  On  this  a  candle-box  was 
placed,  and  within  it,  swathed  in  staring  red  flannel,  lay  the 
last  arrival  at  Roaring  Camp.  Beside  the  candle-box  was 
placed  a  hat.  Its  use  was  soon  indicated.  "  Gentlemen," 
said  Stumpy,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  authority  and  ex 
officio  complacency,  —  "  gentlemen  will  please  pass  in  at 
the  front  door,  round  the  table,  and  out  at  the  back  door. 
Them  as  wishes  to  contribute  anything  toward  the  orphan 
will  find  a  hat  handy."  The  first  man  entered  with  his  hat 
on ;  he  uncovered,  however,  as  he  looked  about  him,  and 
so  unconsciously  set  an  example  to  the  next.  In  such 
communities  good  and  bad  actions  are  catching.  As  the 
procession  filed  in  comments  were  audible,  —  criticisms  ad 
dressed  perhaps  rather  to  Stumpy  in  the  character  of  show 
man  :  "  Is  that  him  ?  "  "  Mighty  small  specimen  ;  " 
c<  Has  n't  more  'n  got  the  color  ; "  "  Ain't  bigger  nor  a  der 
ringer."  The  contributions  were  as  characteristic :  A 
silver  tobacco  box  ;  a  doubloon  ;  a  navy  revolver,  silver 
mounted  ;  a  gold  specimen  ;  a  very  beautifully  embroidered 
lady's  handkerchief  (from  Oakhurst  the  gambler) ;  a  dia- 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROAKING  CAMP  5 

mond  breastpin ;  a  diamond  ring  (suggested  by  the  pin,  with 
the  remark  from  the  giver  that  he  "  saw  that  pin  and  went 
two  diamonds  better  ")  ;  a  slung-shot ;  a  Bible  (contributor 
not  detected) ;  a  golden  spur ;  a  silver  teaspoon  (the  initials, 
I  regret  to  say,  were  not  the  giver's) ;  a  pair  of  surgeon's 
shears  ;  a  lancet ;  a  Bank  of  England  note  for  £5;  and  about 
$200  in  loose  gold  and  silver  coin.  During  these  proceed 
ings  Stumpy  maintained  a  silence  as  impassive  as  the  dead  on 
his  left,  a  gravity  as  inscrutable  as  that  of  the  newly  born 
on  his  right.  Only  one  incident  occurred  to  break  the  monot 
ony  of  the  curious  procession.  As  Kentuck  bent  over  the 
candle-box  half  curiously,  the  child  turned,  and,  in  a  spasm 
of  pain,  caught  at  his  groping  finger,  and  held  it  fast  for  a 
moment.  Kentuck  looked  foolish  and  embarrassed.  Some 
thing  like  a  blush  tried  to  assert  itself  in  his  weather-beaten 
cheek.  "  The  d— d  little  cuss !  "  he  said,  as  he  extricated 
his  finger,  with  perhaps  more  tenderness  and  care  than  he 
might  have  been  deemed  capable  of  showing.  He  held 
that  finger  a  little  apart  from  its  fellows  as  he  went  out, 
and  examined  it  curiously.  The  examination  provoked  the 
same  original  remark  in  regard  to  the  child.  In  fact,  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  repeating  it.  "  He  rastled  with  my  finger," 
he  remarked  to  Tipton,  holding  up  the  member,  "  the  d — d 
little  cuss !  " 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  the  camp  sought  repose.  A 
light  burnt  in  the  cabin  where  the  watchers  sat,  for  Stumpy 
did  not  go  to  bed  that  night.  Nor  did  Kentuck.  He  drank 
quite  freely,  and  related  with  great  gusto  his  experience, 
Invariably  ending  with  his  characteristic  condemnation  of 
che  newcomer.  It  seemed  to  relieve  him  of  any  unjust 
implication  of  sentiment,  and  Kentuck  had  the  weaknesses 
of  the  nobler  sex.  When  everybody  else  had  gone  to  bed, 
he  walked  down  to  the  river  and  whistled  reflectingly. 
Then  he  walked  up  the  gulch  past  the  cabin,  still  whistling 
with  demonstrative  unconcern.  At  a  large  redwood-tree  he 


6  THE  LUCK   OF  ROARING  CAMP 

paused  and  retraced  his  steps,  and  again  passed  the  cabin. 
Halfway  down  to  the  river's  bank  he  again  paused,  and 
then  returned  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by 
Stumpy.  "  How  goes  it  ?  "  said  Kentuck,  looking  past 
Stumpy  toward  the  candle-box.  "  All  serene ! "  replied 
Stumpy.  "Anything  up?"  " Nothing."  There  was  a 
pause  —  an  embarrassing  one  —  Stumpy  still  holding  the 
door.  Then  Kentuck  had  recourse  to  his  finger,  which  he 
held  up  to  Stumpy.  "  Rastled  with  it,  —  the  d— d  little 
cuss,"  he  said,  and  retired. 

The  next  day  Cherokee  Sal  had  such  rude  sepulture  as 
Roaring  Camp  afforded.  After  her  body  had  been  committed 
to  the  hillside,  there  was  a  formal  meeting  of  the  camp  to 
discuss  what  should  be  done  with  her  infant.  A  resolution 
to  adopt  it  was  unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  But  an  ani 
mated  discussion  in  regard  to  the  manner  and  feasibility  of 
providing  for  its  wants  at  once  sprang  up.  It  was  remarkable 
that  the  argument  partook  of  none  of  those  fierce  person 
alities  with  which  discussions  were  usually  conducted  at 
Roaring  Cainp.  Tipton  proposed  that  they  should  send  the 
child  to  Red  Dog,  —  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  —  where 
female  attention  could  be  procured.  But  the  unlucky  sug 
gestion  met  with  fierce  and  unanimous  opposition.  It  was 
evident  that  no  plan  which  entailed  parting  from  their  new 
acquisition  would  for  a  moment  be  entertained.  "  Besides," 
said  Tom  Ryder,  "them  fellows  at  Red  Dog  would  swap 
it,  and  ring  in  somebody  else  on  us."  A  disbelief  in  the 

honesty  of  other  camps  prevailed  at  Roaring  Camp,  as  in 

other  places. 

The  introduction  of  a  female  nurse  in  the  camp  also  met 
with  objection.  It  was  argued  that  no  decent  woman  could 
be  prevailed  to  accept  Roaring  Camp  as  her  home,  and  the 
speaker  urged  that  "  they  did  n't  want  any  more  of  the  other 
kind."  This  unkind  allusion  to  the  defunct  mother,  harsh 
as  it  may  seem,  was  the  first  spasm  of  propriety,  — the  first 


THE   LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP  7 

symptom  of  the  camp's  regeneration.  Stumpy  advanced 
nothing.  Perhaps  he  felt  a  certain  delicacy  in  interfering 
with  the  selection  of  a  possible  successor  in  office.  But 
when  questioned,  he  averred  stoutly  that  he  and  "  Jinny"  — • 
the  mammal  before  alluded  to  —  could  manage  to  rear  the 
child.  There  was  something  original,  independent,  and 
heroic  about  the  plan  that  pleased  the  camp.  Stumpy  was 
retained.  Certain  articles  were  sent  for  to  Sacramento. 
"  Mind,"  said  the  treasurer,  as  he  pressed  a  bag  of  gold-dust 
into  the  expressman's  hand,  "  the  best  that  can  be  got,  — • 
lace,  you  know,  and  filigree-work  and  frills,  —  d — n  the 
cost !  " 

Strange  to  say,  the  child  thrived.  Perhaps  the  invigo 
rating  climate  of  the  mountain  camp  was  compensation  for 
material  deficiencies.  Nature  took  the  foundling  to  her 
broader  breast.  In  that  rare  atmosphere  of  the  Sierra  foot 
hills,  —  that  air  pungent  with  balsamic  odor,  that  ethereal 
cordial  at  once  bracing  and  exhilarating,  —  he  may  have 
found  food  and  nourishment,  or  a  subtle  chemistry  that 
transmuted  ass's  milk  to  lime  and  phosphorus.  Stumpy 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  the  latter  and  good  nurs 
ing.  "  Me  and  that  ass,"  he  would  say,  "  has  been  father 
and  mother  to  him !  Don't  you,"  he  would  add,  apostro 
phizing  the  helpless  bundle  before  him,  "  never  go  back 
on  us." 

By  the  time  he  was  a  month  old  the  necessity  of  giving 
him  a  name  became  apparent.  He  had  generally  been 
known  as  "The  Kid,"  «  Stumpy's  Boy,"  "The  Coyote" 
(an  allusion  to  his  vocal  powers),  and  even  by  Iventuck's 
endearing  diminutive  of  "  The  d — d  little  cuss."  But  these 
were  felt  to  be  vague  and  unsatisfactory,  and  were  at  last 
dismissed  under  another  influence.  Gamblers  and  adven 
turers  are  generally  superstitious,  and  Oakhurst  one  day 
.-declared  that  the  baby  had  brought  "  the  luck  "  to  Roaring 
Camp.  It  was  certain  that  of  late  they  had  been  succe.  B- 


8  THE  LUCK   OF   ROARING  CAMP 

ful.  "  Luck  "  was  the  name  agreed  upon,  with  the  prefix 
of  Tommy  for  greater  convenience.  No  allusion  was  made 
to  the  mother,  and  the  father  was  unknown.  "  It's  better," 
said  the  philosophical  Oakhurst,  "  to  take  a  fresh  deal  all 
round.  Call  him  Luck,  and  start  him  fair."  A  day  was 
accordingly  set  apart  for  the  christening.  What  was  meant 
by  this  ceremony  the  reader  may  imagine  who  has  already 
gathered  some  idea  of  the  reckless  irreverence  of  Roaring 
Camp.  The  master  of  ceremonies  was  one  "  Boston,"  a 
noted  wag,  and  the  occasion  seemed  to  promise  the  greatest 
facetiousness.  This  ingenious  satirist  had  spent  two  days 
in  preparing  a  burlesque  of  the  Church  service,  with  pointed 
local  allusions.  The  choir  was  properly  trained,  and  Sandy 
Tipton  was  to  stand  godfather.  But  after  the  procession 
had  marched  to  the  grove  with  music  and  banners,  and  the 
child  had  been  deposited  before  a  mock  altar,  Stumpy 
stepped  before  the  expectant  crowd.  "  It  ain't  my  style  to 
spoil  fun,  boys,"  said  the  little  man,  stoutly  eying  the  faces 
around  him,  "  but  it  strikes  me  that  this  thing  ain't  exactly 
on  the  squar.  It 's  playing  it  pretty  low  down  on  this  yer 
baby  to  ring  in  fun  on  him  that  he  ain't  goin'  to  understand. 
And  ef  there 's  goin'  to  be  any  godfathers  round,  I  'd  like  to 
see  who 's  got  any  better  rights  than  me."  A  silence  fol 
lowed  Stumpy's  speech.  To  the  credit  of  all  humorists  be 
it  said  that  the  first  man  to  acknowledge  its  justice  was  the 
satirist  thus  stopped  of  his  fun.  "  But,"  said  Stumpy, 
quickly  following  up  his  advantage,  "  we  're  here  for  a 
christening,  and  we  '11  have  it.  I  proclaim  you  Thomas 
Luck,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  United  States  and  the 
State  of  California,  so  help  me  God."  It  was  the  first  time 
that  the  name  of  the  Deity  had  been  otherwise  uttered  than 
profanely  in  the  camp.  The  form  of  christening  was  per 
haps  even  more  ludicrous  than  the  satirist  had  conceived ; 
but  strangely  enough,  nobody  saw  it  and  nobody  laughed. 
u  Tommy "  was  christened  as  seriously  as  he  would  have 


THE   LUCK   OF   ROARING  CAMP  9 

been  under  a  Christian  roof,  and  cried  and  was  comforted  in 
as  orthodox  fashion. 

And  so  the  work  of  regeneration  began  in  Roaring 
Camp.  Almost  imperceptibly  a  change  came  over  the 
settlement.  The  cabin  assigned  to  "  Tommy  Luck  "  —  or 
"  The  Luck,"  as  he  was  more  frequently  called  —  first 
showed  signs  of  improvement.  It  was  kept  scrupulously 
clean  and  whitewashed.  Then  it  was  boarded,  clothed, 
and  papered.  The  rosewood  cradle,  packed  eighty  miles  by 
mule,  had,  in  Stumpy's  way  of  putting  it,  "  sorter  killed 
the  rest  of  the  furniture. "  So  the  rehabilitation  of  the 
cabin  became  a  necessity.  The  men  who  were  in  the  habit 
of  lounging  in  at  Stumpy's  to  see  "  how  '  The  Luck '  got  on  " 
seemed  to  appreciate  the  change,  and  in  self-defense  the 
rival  establishment  of  "  Tuttle's  grocery  "  bestirred  itself 

•  and  imported  a  carpet  and  mirrors.  The  reflections  of  the 
latter  on  the  appearance  of  Roaring  Camp  tended  to  pro 
duce  stricter  habits  of  personal  cleanliness.  Again  Stumpy 
imposed  a  kind  of  quarantine  upon  those  who  aspired  to  the 
honor  and  privilege  of  holding  The  Luck.  It  was  a  cruel 
mortification  to  Kentuck  —  who,  in  the  carelessness  of  a 
large  nature  and  the  habits  of  frontier  life,  had  begun  to 

-regard  all  garments  as  a  second  cuticle,  which,  like  a 
snake's,  only  sloughed  off  through  decay — to  be  debarred 
this  privilege  from  certain  prudential  reasons.  Yet  such 
was  the  subtle  influence  of  innovation  that  he  thereafter 
appeared  regularly  every  afternoon  in  a  clean  shirt  and 
face  still  shining  from  his  ablutions._4/Nor  were  moral  and 
social  sanitary  laws  neglected.  "  Tommy,"  who  was  sup 
posed  to  spend  his  whole  existence  in  a  persistent  attempt 
to  repose,  must  not  be  disturbed  by  noise.  The  shouting 
and  yelling,  which  had  gained  the  camp  its  infelicitous  title, 
were  not  permitted  within  hearing  distance  of  Stumpy's, 
The  men  conversed  in  whispers  or  smoked  with  Indian 
gravity.  Profanity  was  tacitly  given  up  in  these  sacred  pre- 


10          THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 

cmcts,  and  throughout  the  camp  a  popular  form  of  exple 
tive,  known  as  "  D — n  the  luck  !  "  and  "  Curse  the  luck  !  " 
was  abandoned,  as  having  a  new  personal  bearing.  Vocal 
music  was  not  interdicted,  being  supposed  to  have  a  sooth 
ing,  tranquilizing  quality ;  and  one  song,  sung  by  "  Man-o'- 
War  Jack,"  an  English  sailor  from  her  Majesty's  Australian 
colonies,  was  quite  popular  as  a  lullaby.  It  was  a  lugubri 
ous  recital  of  the  exploits  of  "  the  Arethusa,  Seventy-four," 
.  in  a  muffled  minor,  ending  with  a  prolonged  dying  fall  at 
the  burden  of  each  verse,  "  On  b-oo-o-ard  of  the  Arethusa." 
It  was  a  fine  sight  to  see  Jack  holding  The  Luck,  rocking 
from  side  to  side  as  if  with  the  motion  of  a  ship,  and  croon 
ing  forth  this  naval  ditty.  Either  through  the  peculiar 
rocking  of  Jack  or  the  length  of  his  song,  —  it  contained 
ninety  stanzas,  and  was  continued  with  conscientious  deliber 
ation  to  the  bitter  end,  —  the  lullaby  generally  had  the 
desired  effect.  At  such  times  the  men  would  lie  at  full 
length  under  the  trees  in  the  soft  summer  twilight,  smok 
ing  their  pipes  and  drinking  in  the  melpjlitfus  utterances. 
An  indistinct  idea  that  this  was  pastoral  happiness  per 
vaded  the  camp.  "  This  'ere  kind  o'  think,"  said  the 
Cockney  Simmons,  meditatively  reclining  on  his  elbow,  "  is 
'evingly."  It  reminded  him  of  Greenwich. 

On  the  long  summer  days  The  Luck  was  usually  carried 
to  the  gulch  from  whence  the  golden  store  of  Roaring 
Camp  was  taken.  There,  on  a  blanket  spread  over  pine 
boughs,  he  would  lie  while  the  men  were  working  in  the 
ditches  below.  Latterly  there  was  a  rude  attempt  to  deco 
rate  this  bower  with  flowers  and  sweet-smelling  shrubs,  and 
generally  some  one  would  bring  him  a  cluster  of  wild  honey 
suckles,  azaleas,  or  the  painted  blossoms  of  Las  Mariposas. 
The  men  had  suddenly  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there 
were  beauty  and  significance  in  these  trifles,  which  they  had 
so  long  trodden  carelessly  beneath  their  feet.  A  flake  of 
glittering  mica,  a  fragment  of  variegated  quartz,  a  bright 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          11 

pebble  from  the  bed  of  the  creek,  became  beautiful  to  eyes 
thus  cleared  and  strengthened,  and  were  invariably  put 
aside  for  The  Luck.  It  was  wonderful  how  many  trea 
sures  the  woods  and  hillsides  yielded  that  "  would  do  for 
Tommy."  Surrounded  by  playthings  such  as  never  child 
out  of  fairyland  had  before,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Tommy 
was  'content.  He  appeared  to  be  serenely  happy,  albeit 
there  was  an  infantine  gravity  about  him,  a  contemplative  I 
light  in  his  round  gray  eyes,  that  sometimes  worried  Stumpy. 
He  was  always  tractable  and  quiet,  and  it  is  recorded  that 
once,  having  crept  beyond  his  "  corral,"  —  a  hedge  of  tessel 
lated  pine  boughs,  which  surrounded  his  bed,  —  he  dropped 
over  the  bank  on  his  head  in  the  soft  earth,  and  remained 
with  his  mottled  legs  in  the  air  in  that  position  for  at  least 
five  minutes  with  unflinching  gravity.  He  was  extricated 
without  a  murmur.  I  hesitate  to  record  the  many  other 
instances  of  his  sagacity,  which  rest,  unfortunately,  upon 
the  statements  of  prejudiced  friends.  Some  of  them  were 
not  without  a  tinge  of  superstition.  "  I  crep'  up  the  bank 
just  now,"  said  Kentuck  one  day,  in  a  breathless  state  of 
excitement,  "  and  dern  my  skin  if  he  was  n't  a-talking  to  a 
jaybird  as  was  a-sittin'  on  his  lap.  There  they  was,  just  as 
free  and  sociable  as  anything  you  please,  a-jawin'  at  each 
other  just  like  two  cherrybums."  Howbeit,  whether  creep 
ing  over  the  pine  boughs  or  lying  lazily  on  his  back  blink 
ing  at  the  leaves  above  him,  to  him  the  birds  sang,  the 
squirrels  chattered,  and  the  flowers  bloomed.  Nature  was 
his  nurse  and  playfellow.  For  him  she  would  let  slip  be 
tween  the  leaves  golden  shafts  of  sunlight  that  fell  just 
within  his  grasp ;  she  would  send  wandering  breezes  to 
visit  him  with  the  bairn  of  bay  and  resinous  gum  ;  to  him 
the  tall  redwoods  nodded  familiarly  and  sleepily,  the  bum 
blebees  buzzed,  and  the  rooks  cawed  a  slumbrous  accom 
paniment. 

Such  was  the  golden  summer  of  Eoaring  Camp.     They 


12          THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 

were  "  flush  times,"  and  the  luck  was  with  them.  The 
claims  had  yielded  enormously.  The  camp  was  jealous  of 
its  privileges  and  looked  suspiciously  on  strangers.  No 
encouragement  was  given  to  immigration,  and,  to  make 
their  seclusion  more  perfect,  the  land  on  either  side  of 
the  mountain  wall  that  surrounded  the  camp  they  duly 
preempted.  This,  and  a  reputation  for  singular  proficiency 
with  the  revolver,  kept  the  reserve  of  Roaring  Camp  invio 
late.  The  expressman  —  their  only  connecting  link  with 
the  surrounding  Avorld  —  sometimes  told  wonderful  stories 
of  the  camp.  He  would  say,  "They  've  a  street  up  there 
in  '  Roaring '  that  would  lay  over  any  street  in  Red  Dog. 
They  've  got  vines  and  flowers  round  their  houses,  and  they 
wash  themselves  twice  a  day.  But  they  're  mighty  rough 
on  strangers,  and  they  worship  an  Ingin  baby." 

With  the  prosperity  of  the  camp  came  a  desire  for 
further  improvement.  It  was  proposed  to  build  a  hotel  in 
the  following  spring,  and  to  invite  one  or  two  decent  fam 
ilies  to  reside  there  for  the  sake  of  The  Luck,  who  might 
perhaps  profit  by  female  companionship.  The  sacrifice  that 
this  concession  to  the  sex  cost  these  men,  who  were  fiercely 
^keptical  in  regard  to  its  general  virtue  and  usefulness,  can 
only  be  accounted  for  by  their  affection  for  Tommy.  A  few 
still  held  out.  But'the  resolve  could  not  be  carried  into 
effect  for  three  months,  and  the  minority  meekly  yielded  in 
the  hope  that  something  might  turn  up  to  prevent  it.  And 
it  did. 

The  winter  of  1851  will  long  be  remembered  in  the  foot 
hills.  The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  Sierras,  and  every  moun 
tain  creek  became  a  river,  and  every  river  a  lake.  Each 
gorge  and  gulch  was  transformed  into  a  tumultuous  water 
course  that  descended  the  hillsides,  tearing  down  giant  trees 
and  scattering  its  drift  and  debris  along  the  plain.  Red 
Dog  had  been  twice  under  water,  and  Roaring  Camp  had 
forewarned.  "  Water  put  the  gold  into  them  gulches," 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          13 

said  Stumpy.  "  It 's  been  here  once  and  will  be  here  again  ! /J 
And  that  night  the  North  Fork  suddenly  leaped  over  its 
banks  and  swept  up  the  triangular  valley  of  Roaring  Camp. 

In  the  confusion  of  rushing  water,  crashing  trees,  and 
crackling  timber,  and  the  darkness  which  seemed  to  flow 
with  the  water  and  blot  out  the  fair  valley,  but  little  could 
be  done  to  collect  the  scattered  camp.  When  the  morning 
broke,  the  cabin  of  Stumpy,  nearest  the  river-bank,  was 
gone.  Higher  up  the  gulch  they  found  the  body  of  its  un 
lucky  owner ;  but  the  pride,  the  hope,  the  joy,  The  Luck, 
of  Roaring  Camp  had  disappeared.  They  were  returning 
with  sad  hearts  when  a  shout  from  the  bank  recalled  them. 

It  was  a  relief-boat  from  down  the  river.  They  had 
picked  up,  they  said,  a  man  and  an  infant,  nearly  exhausted, 
about  two  miles  below.  Did  anybody  know  them,  and 
did  they  belong  here  ? 

It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show  them  Kentuck  lying 
there,  cruelly  crushed  and  bruised,  but  still  holding  The 
Luck  of  Roaring  Camp  in  his  arms.  As  they  bent  over  the 
strangely  assorted  pair,  they  saw  that  the  child  was  cold 
jmd  pulseless.  "  He  is  dead,"  said  one.  Kentuck  opened 
his  eyes.  "  Dead  ?  "  he  repeated  feebly.  "  Yes,  my  man, 
and  you  are  dying  too."  A  smile  lit  the  eyes  of  the  expir 
ing  Kentuck.  "  Dying  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  he  's  a-taking 
me  with  him.  Tell  the  boys  I  've  got  The  Luck  with  me 
now ; "  and  the  strong  man,  clinging  to  the  frail  babe  as  a 
drowning  man  is  said  to  cling  to  a  straw,  drifted  away  into 
tfce  shadowy  river  that  flows  forever  to  the  unknown  sea. 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER  FLAT 

As  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into  the  main 
street  of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning  of  the  23d  of  Novem 
ber,  1850,  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  its  moral  atmos 
phere  since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or  three  men,  con 
versing  earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he  approached,  and 
exchanged  significant  glances.  There  was  a  Sabbath  lull 
in  the  air,  which,  in  a  settlement  unused  to  Sabbath  in 
fluences,  looked  ominous. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome  face  betrayed  small  con 
cern  in  these  indications.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of 
any  predisposing  cause  was  another  question.  "  I  reckon 
they  're  after  somebody,"  he  reflected  ;  "  likely  it 's  me." 
He  returned  to  his  pocket  the  handkerchief  with  which  he 
had  been  whipping  away  the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat  from 
his  neat  boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his  mind  of  any 
further  conjecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was  "  after  somebody."  It 
had  lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars,  two 
valuable  horses,  and  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was  experi 
encing  a  spasm  of  virtuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and 
ungovernable  as  any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A 
Vsecret  committee  had  determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all  im 
proper  persons.  This  was  done  permanently  in  regard  oi 
two  men  who  were  then  hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a 
sycamore  in  the  gulch,  and  temporarily  in  the  banishment 
of  certain  other  objectionable  characters.  I  regret  to  say 
that  some  of  these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due  to  the  sex, 
however,  to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  professional 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT         15 

and  it  was  only  in  such  easily  established  standards  of  evil 
that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit  in  judgment. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  was  in 
cluded  in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  committee  had 
urged  hanging  him  as  a  possible  example  and  a  sure 
method  of  reimbursing  themselves  from  his  pockets  of  the 
sums  he  had  won  from  them.  "  It 's  agin  justice,"  said 
Jim  Wheeler,  "  to  let  this  yer  young  man  from  Roaring 
Camp  —  an  entire  stranger  —  carry  away  our  money."  But 
a  crude  sentiment  of  equity  residing  in  the  breasts  of  those 
who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win  from  Mr.  Oakhurst 
overruled  this  narrower  local  prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  philosophic 
calmness,  none  the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
hesitation  of  his  judges.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler 
not  to  accept  fate.  With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain 
game,  and  he  recognized  the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of 
the  dealer. 

A  body  of  armed  men  accompanied  the  deported  wicked 
ness  of  Poker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement. 
Besides  Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  des 
perate  man,  and  for  whose  intimidation  the  armed  escort 
was  intended,  the  expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young 
woman  familiarly  known  as  "  The  Duchess  ;  "  another  who 
had  won  the  title  of  "  Mother  Shipton ;  "  and  "  Uncle 
Billy,"  a  suspected  sluice-robber  and  confirmed  drunkard. 
The  cavalcade  provoked  no  comments  from  the  spectators, 
nor  was  any  word  uttered  by  the  escort.  Only  when  the 
gulch  which  marked  the  uttermost  limit  of  Poker  Flat  was 
reached,  the  leader  spoke  briefly  and  to  the  point.  The 
exiles  were  forbidden  to  return  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings  found 
vent  in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the  Duchess,  some  bad 
language  from  Mother  Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of 
expletives  from  Uncle  Billy.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst 


16  THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER   FLAT 

alcne  remained  silent.  He  listened  calmly  to  Mother 
Shipton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's  heart  out,  to  the 
repeated  statements  of  the  Duchess  that  she  would  die  in 
the  road,  and  to  the  alarming  oaths  that  seemed  to  be 
bumped  out  of  Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the 
easy  good  humor  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted 
upon  exchanging  his  own  riding-horse,  "  Five-Spot,"  for 
the  sorry  mule  which  the  Duchess  rode.  But  even  this 
act  did  not  draw  the  party  into  any  closer  sympathy.  The 
young  woman  readjusted  her  somewhat  draggled  plumes 
with  a  feeble,  faded  coquetry ;  Mother  Shiptori  eyed  the 
possessor  of  "  Five-Spot "  with  malevolence,  and  Uncle 
Billy  included  the  whole  party  in  one  sweeping  anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  —  a  camp  that,  not  having  as  yet 
experienced  the  regenerating  influences  of  Poker  Flat,  con 
sequently  seemed  to  offer  some  invitation  to  the  emigrants 
—  lay  over  a  steep  mountain  range.  It  was  distant  a  day's 
severe  travel.  In  that  advanced  season  the  party  soon 
passed  out  of  the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the  foothills 
into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air  of  the  Sierras.  The  trail 
was  narrow  and  difficult.  At  noon  the  Duchess,  rolling 
out  .of  her  saddle  upon  the  ground,  declared  her  intention 
of  going  no  farther,  and  the  party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive.  A  wooded 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  precipitous 
cliffs  of  naked  granite,  sloped  gently  toward  the  crest  of 
another  precipice  that  overlooked  the  valley.  It  was,  un 
doubtedly,  the  most  suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camping 
been  advisable.  But  Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely  half 
the  journey  to  Sandy  Bar  was  accomplished,  and  the  party 
were  not  equipped  or  provisioned  for  delay.  This  fact  he 
pointed  out  to  his  companions  curtly,  with  a  philosophic 
commentary  on  the  folly  of  "  throwing  up  their  hand  before 
the  game  was  played  out."  But  they  were  furnished  with 
liquor,  which  in  this  emergency  stood  them  in  place  of  food, 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF    POKER   FLAT  17 

fuel,  rest,  and  prescience.  In  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  it 
was  not  long  before  they  were  more  or  less  under  its  influ 
ence.  Uncle  Billy  passed  rapidly  from  a  bellicose  state  into 
one  of  stupor,  .the  Duchess  became  maudlin,  and  Mother 
Shipton  snored.  Mr.  Oakhurst  alone  remained  erect,  lean 
ing  against  a  rock,  calmly  surveying  them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with  a  pro 
fession  which  required  coolness,  impassiveness,  and  presence 
of  mind,  and,  in  his  own  language,  he  "  could  n't  afford  it." 
As  he  gazed  at  his  recumbent  fellow  exiles,  the  loneliness 
begotten  of  his  pariah  trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his  very  vices, 
for  the  first  time  seriously  oppressed  him.  He  bestirred 
himself  in  dusting  his  black  clothes,  washing  his  hands  and 
face,  and  other  acts  characteristic  of  his  studiously  neat 
habits,  and  for  a  moment  iorgot  his  annoyance.  The 
thought  of  deserting  his  weaker  and  more  pitiable  compan 
ions  never  perhaps  occurred  to  him.  Yet  he  could  not  help 
feeling  the  want  of  that  excitement  which,  singularly 
•enough,  was  most  conducive  to  that  calm  equanimity  for 
which  he  was  notorious.  He  looked  at  the  gloomy  walls 
that  rose  a  thousand  feet  sheer  above  the  circling  pines 
around  him,  at  the  sky  ominously  clouded,  at  the  valley 
below,  already  deepening  into  shadow  ;  and,  doing  so,  sud* 
denly  he  heard  his  own  name  called. 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the  fresh, 
open  face  of  the  newcomer  Mr.  Oakhurst  recognized  Tom 
Simson,  otherwise  known  as  "  The  Innocent,"  of  Sandy 
Bar.  He  had  met  him  some  months  before  over  a  "  little 
game,"  and  had,  with  perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire 
fortune — amounting  to  some  forty  dollars  —  of  that  guile 
less  youth.  After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
drew  the  youthful  speculator  behind  the  door  and  thus  ad 
dressed  him :  "  Tommy,  you  're  a  good  little  man,  but  you 
•an't  gamble  worth  a  cent.  Don't  try  it  over  again."  He 


18  THE   OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 

then  handed  him  his  money  back,  pushed  him  gently  from 
the  room,  and  so  made  a  devoted  slave  of  Tom  Simson. 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish  and  en 
thusiastic  greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He  had  started,  he 
said,  to  go  to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his  fortune.  "  Alone  ?  " 
No,  not  exactly  alone ;  in  fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run  away 
with  Piney  Woods.  Did  n't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember  Piney  ? 
She  that  used  to  wait  on  the  table  at  the  Temperance 
House  ?  They  had  been  engaged  a  long  time,  but  old 
Jake  Woods  had  objected,  and  so  they  had  run  away,  and 
were  going  to  Poker  Flat  to  be  married,  and  here  they 
were.  And  they  were  tired  out,  and  how  lucky  it  was  they 
had  found  a  place  to  camp,  and  company.  All  this  the 
Innocent  delivered  rapidly,  while  Piney,  a  stout,  comely 
damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from  behind  the  pine-tree, 
where  she  had  been  blushing  unseen,  and  rode  to  the  side 
of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sentiment, 
still  less  with  propriety ;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
situation  was  not  fortunate.  He  retained,  however,  his 
presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was 
about  to  say  something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough 
to  recognize  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power  that 
would  not  bear  trifling.  He  then  endeavored  to  dissuade 
Tom  Simson  from  delaying  further,  but  in  vain.  He  even 
pointed  out  the  fact  that  there  was  no  provision,  nor  means 
of  making  a  camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent  met  this 
objection  by  assuring  the  party  that  he  was  provided  with 
an  extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions,  and  by  the  discovery 
of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log  house  near  the  trail.  "  Piney 
can  stay  with  Mrs.  Oakhurst,"  said  the  Innocent,  pointing 
to  the  Duchess,  "and  I  can  shift  for  myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot  saved 
Uncle  Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  As  it 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER  FLAT  19 

was,  he  felt  compelled  to  retire  up  the  canon  until  he  could 
recover  his  gravity.  There  he  confided  the  joke  to  the  tall 
pine-trees,  with  many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his 
face,  and  the  usual  profanity.  But  when  he  returned  to 
the  party,  he  found  them  seated  by  a  fire  —  for  the  air  had 
grown  strangely  chill  and  the  sky  overcast  —  in  apparently 
amicable  conversation.  Piney  was  actually  talking  in  an 
impulsive  girlish  fashion  to  the  Duchess,  who  was  listening 
with  an  interest  and  animation  she  had  not  shown  for 
many  days.  The  Innocent  was  holding  forth,  apparently 
with  equal  effect,  to  Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Mother  Shipton, 
who  was  actually  relaxing  into  amiability.  "  Is  this  yer  a 
d — d  picnic  ?  "  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  inward  scorn,  as  he 
surveyed  the  sylvan  group,  the  glancing  firelight,  and  the 
tethered  animals  in  the  foreground.  Suddenly  an  idea 
mingled  with  the  alcoholic  fumes  that  disturbed  his  brain. 
It  was  apparently  of  a  jocular  nature,  for  he  felt  impelled 
to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram  his  fist  into  his  mouth. 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  the  mountain,  a  slight 
breeze  rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  and  moaned 
through  their  long  and  gloomy  aisles.  The  ruined  cabin, 
patched  and  covered  with  pine  boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the 
ladies.  As  the  lovers  parted,  they  unaffectedly  exchanged 
a  kiss,  so  honest  and  sincere  that  it  might  have  been  heard 
above  the  swaying  pines.  The  frail  Duchess  and  the 
malevolent  Mother  Shipton  were  probably  too  stunned  to 
remark  upon  this  last  evidence  of  simplicity,  and  so  turned 
without  a  word  to  the  hut.  The  fire  was  replenished,  the 
men  lay  down  before  the  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were 


Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  morning  he 
awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred  the  dying  fire 
the  wind,  which  was  now  blowing  strongly,  brought  to  his 
cheek  that  which  caused  the  blood  to  leave  it,  —  snow  ! 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of  awakening 


20  THE   OUTCASTS  OF   POKfcK   FLAT 

the  sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  But  turning  to 
where  Uncle  Billy  had  been  lying,  he  found  him  gone.  A 
suspicion  leaped  to  his  brain,  and  a  curse  to  his  lips.  He 
ran  to  the  spot  where  the  mules  had  been  tethered  —  they 
were  no  longer  there.  The  tracks  were  already  rapidly  dis 
appearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back 
"/o  the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not  waken  the 
sleepers.  The  Innocent  slumbered  peacefully,  with  a  smile 
on  his  good-humored,  freckled  face  ;  the  virgin  Piney  • 
slept  beside  her  frailer  sisters  as  sweetiy  as  though  attended 
by  celestial  guardians ;  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing  his 
blanket  over  his  shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches  arid 
waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slowly  in  a  whirling  mist 
of  snowflakes  that  dazzled  and  confused  the  eye.  What 
could  be  seen  of  the  landscape  appeared  magically  changed. 
He  looked  over  the  valley,  and  summed  up  the  presen*" 
and  future  in  two  words,"  Snowed  in !  " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  provisions,  which,  fortunatel} 
for  the  party,  had  been  stored  within  the  hut,  and  so 
escaped  the  felonious  fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the 
fact  that  with  care  and  prudence  they  might  last  ten  days 
longer.  "That  is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst  sotto  voce  to  the 
Innocent,  "  if  you  're  willing  to  board  us.  If  you  ain't  — 
and  perhaps  you  'd  better  not  —  you  can  wait  till  Uncle 
Billy  gets  back  with  provisions."  For  some  occult  reason, 
Mr.  Oakhnrst  could  not  bring  himself  to  disclose  Uncle 
Billy's  rascality,  and  so  offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had 
wandered  from  the  camp  and  had  accidentally  stampeded  the 
animals.  He  dropped  a  warning  to  the  Duchess  and 
Mother  Shipton,  who  of  course  knew  the  facts  of  their 
associate's  defection.  "  They  '11  find  out  the  truth  about  us 
all  when  they  find  out  anything,"  he  added  significantly, 
u  and  there  's  no  good  frightening  them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  hip  worldly  store  at  the 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER   FLAT  21 

disposal  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  the  prospect 
of  their  enforced  seclusion.  "  We  '11  have  a  good  camp  for 
a  week,  and  then  the  snow  '11  melt,  and  we  '11  all  go  back 
together."  The  cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man  and 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm  infected  the  others.  The  Innocent, 
with  the  aid  of  pine  boughs,  extemporized  a  thatch  for  the 
roofless  cabin,  and  the  Duchess  directed  Piney  in  the 
rearrangement  of  the  interior  with  a  taste  and  tact  that 
opened  the  blue  eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to  their 
fullest  extent.  "  I  reckon  now  you  're  used  to  fine  things  at 
Poker  Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess  turned  away  sharply 
to  conceal  something  that  reddened  her  cheeks  through 
their  professional  tint,  and  Mother  Shipton  requested  Piney 
not  to  "  chatter."  But  when  Mr.  Oakhurst  returned  from 
a  weary  search  for  the  trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of  happy 
laughter  echoed  from  the  rocks.  He  stopped  in  some 
alarm,  and  his  thoughts  first  naturally  reverted  to  the 
whiskey,  which  he  had  prudently  cached.  "  And  yet  it 
don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,"  said  the  gambler.  It 
was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the  blazing  fire  through 
the  still  blinding  storm,  and  the  group  around  it,  that  he 
settled  to  the  conviction  that  it  was  "  square  fun." 

Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cached  his  cards  with  the 
whiskey  as  something  debarred  the  free  access  of  the  com 
munity,  I  cannot  say.  It  was  certain  that,  in  Mother 
Shipton's  words,  he  "  did  n't  say  <  cards '  once  "  during  that 
evening.  Haply  the  time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion, 
produced  somewhat  ostentatiously  by  Tom  Sim  son  from 
his  pack.  Notwithstanding  some  difficulties  attending  the 
manipulation  of  this  instrument,  Piney  Woods  managed  to 
pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from  its  keys,  to  an  accom 
paniment  by  the  Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castanets. 
But  the  crowning  festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a 
rude  camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining  hands, 
•ang  with  great  earnestness  and  vociferation.  I  fear  that  a 


22  THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER  FLAT 


defiant  tone  and  Covenanter's  swing  to  its  chorus, 
rather  than  any  devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily  to 
infect  the  others,  who  at  last  joined  in  the  refrain  :  — 

"I  'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I  'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 

Th<  pines  rocked,  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled  above  the 
miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their  altar  leaped  heaven 
ward,  as  if  in  token  of  the  vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds  parted, 
and  the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleeping  camp. 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  professional  habits  had  enabled  him 
to  live  on  the  smallest  possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing 
the  watch  with  Tom  Simson  somehow  managed  to  take 
upon  himself  the  greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused 
himself  to  the  Innocent  by  saying  that  he  had  "  often  been 
a  week  without  sleep."  "  Doing  what  ?  "  asked  Tom. 
"  Poker  !  "  replied  Oakhurst  sententiously.  "  When  a  man 
gets  a  streak  of  luck,  —  nigger-luck,  —  he  don't  get  tired. 
The  luck  gives  in  first.  Luck,"  continued  the  gambler 
reflectively,  "  is  a  mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know 
about  it  for  certain  is  that  it  's  bound  to  change.  And  it  's 
finding  out  when  it's  going  to  change  that  makes  you. 
We  've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck  since  we  left  Poker  Flat,  — 
you  come  along,  and  slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you  can 
hold  your  cards  right  along  you  're  all  right.  For,"  added 
the  gambler,  with  cheerful  irrelevance  — 

"  '  I  'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I  'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army.'  " 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through  the 
white-curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide  their  slowly 
decreasing  store  of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal.  It 
was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that  mountain  climate  that 
its  rays  diffused  a  kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  landscape, 
as  if  in  regretful  commiseration  of  the  past.  But  it  revealed 
drift  on  drift  of  snow  piled  high  around  the  hut,  —  a  hope- 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER   FLAT  23 

less,  uncharted,  trackless  sea  of  white  lying  below  the  rocky 
shores  to  which  the  castaways  still  clung.  Through  the 
marvelously  clear  air  the  smoke  of  the  pastoral  village  of 
Poker  Flat  rose  miles  away.  Mother  Shipton  saw  it,  and 
from  a  remote  pinnacle  of  her  rocky  fastness  hurled  in  that 
direction  a  final  malediction.  It  was  her  last  vituperative 
attempt,  and  perhaps  for  that  reason  was  invested  with  a 
certain  degree  of  sublimity.  It  did  her  good,  she  privately- 
informed  the  Duchess.  "  Just  you  go  out  there  and  cuss, 
and  see."  She  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of  amusing  "  the 
child,"  as  she  and  the  Duchess  were  pleased  to  call  Piney. 
Piney  was  no  chicken,  but  it  was  a  soothing  and  original 
theory  of  the  pair  thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that  she 
did  n't  swear  and  was  n't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges,  the  reedy 
notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  fitful  spasms  and 
long-drawn  gasps  by  the  flickering  campfire.  But  music 
failed  to  fill  entirely  the  aching  void  left  by  insufficient 
food,  and  a  new  diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney,  —  story 
telling.  Neither  Mr.  Oakhurst  nor  his  female  companions 
caring  to  relate  their  personal  experiences,  this  plan  would 
have  failed  too,  but  for  the  Innocent.  Some  months  before 
he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray  copy  of  Mr.  Pope's  ingenious 
translation  of  the  Iliad.  He  now  proposed  to  narrate  the 
principal  incidents  of  that  poem  —  having  thoroughly  mas 
tered  the  argument  and  fairly  forgotten  the  words  —  in  the 
current  vernacular  of  Sandy  Bar.  And  so  for  the  rest  of 
that  night  the  Homeric  demigods  again  walked  the  earth. 
Trojan  bully  and  wily  Greek  wrestled  in  the  winds,  and  the 
great  pines  in  the  canon  seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath  of  the 
son  of  Peleus.  Mr.  Oakhurst  listened  with  quiet  satisfaction. 
Most  especially  was  he  interested  in  the  fate  of  "  Ash-heels," 
as  the  Innocent  persisted  in  denominating  the  "swift-footed 
Achilles." 

So,  with  small  food  and  much  of  Homer  and  the  acoor- 


24         THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 

dion,  a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts.  The 
sun  again  forsook  them,  and  again  from  leaden  skies  the 
snowflakes  were  sifted  over  the  land.  Day  by  day  closer 
around  them  drew  the  snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  looked 
from  their  prison  over  drifted  walls  of  dazzling  white,  that 
towered  twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  It  became  more 
and  more  difficult  to  replenish  their  fires,  even  from  the 
fallen  trees  beside  them,  now  half  hidden  in  the  drifts. 
And  yet  no  one  complained.  The  lovers  turned  from  the 
dreary  prospect  and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  were 
happy.  Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  himself  coolly  to  the  losing 
game  before  him.  The  Duchess,  more  cheerful  than  she 
had  been,  assumed  the  care  of  Piney.  Only  Mother  Ship- 
ton  —  once  the  strongest  of  the  party  —  seemed  to  sicken 
and  fade.  At  midnight  on  the  tenth  day  she  called  Oak- 
hurst  to  her  side.  ."I'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of 
querulous  weakness,  "  but  don't  say  anything  about  it. 
Don't  waken  the  kids.  Take  the  bundle  from  under  my 
head,  and  open  it."  Mr.  Oakhurst  did  so.  It  contained 
Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the  last  week,  untouched. 
"  Give  'em  to  the  child,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  sleeping 
Piney.  "  You  've  starved  yourself,"  said  the  gambler. 
"  That 's  what  they  call  it,"  said  the  woman  querulously,  as 
she  lay  down  again,  and,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  passed 
quietly  away. 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that  day, 
and  Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of  Mother 
Shipton  had  been  committed  to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
took  the  Innocent  aside,  and  showed  him  a  pair  of  sriow- 
Bhoes,  which  he  had  fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle. 
"  There  's  one  chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  her  yet,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  Piney ;  "  but  it 's  there,"  he  added,  pointing 
toward  Poker  Flat.  "  If  you  can  reach  there  in  two  days 
she 's  safe."  "  And  you  ?  "  asked  Tom  Simson.  "  I  '11  *tay 
here,"  was  fhrt  r.nrt  reply. 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER  FLAT  21 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  "  You  are  not 
going,  too  ? y>  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Oakhurst 
apparently  waiting  to  accompany  him.  "  As  far  as  the 
canon,"  he  replied.  He  turned  suddenly  and  kissed  the 
Duchess,  leaving  her  pallid  face  aflame,  and  her  trembling 
limbs  rigid  with  amazement. 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought  the  storm 
again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the  Duchess,  feeding 
the  fire,  found  that  some  one  had  quietly  piled  beside  the 
hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  The  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes,  but  she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

The  women  slept  but  little.  In  the  morning,  looking 
into  each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate.  Neither  spoke, 
but  Piney,  accepting  the  position  of  the  stronger,  drew  near 
and  placed  her  arm  around  the  Duchess's  waist.  They 
kept  this  attitude  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night  the 
storm  reached  its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder  the 
protecting  vines,  invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable  to  feed 
the  fire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As  the  embers 
elowlv  blackened,  tne  Duchess  crept  closer  to  Piney,  and 
broke  the  silence  of  many  hours  :  "  Piney,  can  you  pray  ?  " 
"No,  dear,"  said  Piney  simply.  The  Duchess,  without 
knowing  exactly  why,  felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  head 
fc\ipon  Piney's  shoulder,  spoke  no  more.  And  so  reclining, 
the  younger  and  purer  pillowing  the  head  of  her  soiled  sis 
ter  upon  her  virgin  breast,  they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them.  Feath 
ery  drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine  boughs,  flew 
like  white  winged  birds,  and  settled  about  them  as  they 
slept.  The  moon  through  the  rifted  clouds  looked  down 
upon  what  had  been  the  camp.  But  all  human  stain,  all 
trace  of  earthly  travail,  was  hidden  beneath  the  spotless 
toantle  mercifully  flung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  and  the  next,  nor  did  they  waken 


26  THE   OUTCASTS   OF  POKER  FLAT 

when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the  silence  of  the  camp. 
And  when  pitying  fingers  brushed  the  snow  from  their 
wan  faces,  you  could  scarcely  have  told  from  the  equal 
peace  that  dwslt  upon  them  which  was  she  that  had  sinned. 
Even  the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned 
away,  leaving  them  still  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the  largest  pine- 
trees,  they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to  the  bark 
with  a  bowie-knife.  It  bore  the  following,  written  in  pen 
cil  in  a  firm  hand  :  — 

t 

BENEATH  THIS  TREK 

LIES  THE  BODY 

OF 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO   STRUCK  A  STREAK  OF  BAD  I.UCK 
ON  THE  23D  OF  NOVEMBER  1850, 

AND 

HANDED  IN  HIS  CHECKS 
ON  THE  7TH  DECEMBER,  1850. 


And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  Derringer  by  his  side  and  a 
bullet  in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  beneath  the 
snow  lay  he  who  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  yet  the 
weakest  of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 


HIGGLES 

WE  were  eight  including  the  driver.  We  had  not 
spoken  during  the  passage  of  the  last  six  miles,  since  the 
jolting  of  the  heavy  vehicle  over  the  roughening  road  had 
spoiled  the  Judge's  last  poetical  quotation.  The  tall  man 
beside  the  Judge  was  asleep,  his  arm  passed  through  the 
swaying  strap  and  his  head  resting  upon  it, —  altogether  a 
limp,  helpless  looking  object,  as  if  he  had  hanged  himself 
and  been  cut  down  too  late.  The  French  lady  on  the  back 
seat  was  asleep  too,  yet  in  a  half-conscious  propriety  of  at 
titude,  shown  even  in  the  disposition  of  the  handkerchief 
which  she  held  to  her  forehead  and  which  partially  veiled 
her  face.  The  lady  from  Virginia  City,  traveling  with  her 
husband,  had  long  since  lost  all  individuality  in  a  wild 
confusion  of  ribbons,  veils,  furs,  and  shawls.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  rattling  of  wheels  and  the  dash  of  rain 
upon  the  roof.  Suddenly  the  stage  stopped  and  we  be 
came  dimly  aware  of  voices.  The  driver  was  evidently  in 
the  midst  of  an  exciting  colloquy  with  some  one  in  the 
road,  —  a  colloquy  of  which  such  fragments  as  "  bridge 
gone/7  "  twenty  feet  of  water,"  "  can't  pass,"  were  occa 
sionally  distinguishable  above  the  storm.  Then  came  a  lull, 
and  a  mysterious  voice  from  the  road  shouted  the  parting 
adjuration  — 

"  Try  Miggles's." 

We  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  leaders  as  the  vehicle  slowly 
turned,  of  a  horseman  vanishing  through  the  rain,  and  we 
were  evidently  on  our  way  to  Miggles's. 

Who  and  where  was  Higgles  ?     The  Judge,  our  author- 


28  HIGGLES 

ity,  did  not  remember  the  name,  and  he  knew  the  country 
thoroughly.  The  Washoe  traveler  thought  Higgles  must 
keep  a  hotel.  We  only  knew  that  we  were  stopped  by 
high  water  in  front  and  rear,  and  that  Miggles  was  our 
rock  of  refuge.  A  ten  minutes'  splashing  through  a  tangled 
byroad,  scarcely  wide  enough  for  the  stage,  and  we  drew 
up  before  a  barred  and  boarded  gate  in  a  wide  stone  wall 
or  fence  about  eight  feet  high.  Evidently  Miggles's,  and 
evidently  Miggles  did  not  keep  a  hotel. 

The  driver  got  down  and  tried  the  gate.  It  was  securely 
locked. 

«  Miggles  !     0  Miggles  !  " 

No  answer. 

"  Migg-ells  !  You  Miggles  !  "  continued  the  dr.wer,  with 
rising  wrath. 

"  Migglesy !  "  joined  in  the  expressman  persuasively. 
"OMiggy!  Mig!" 

But  no  reply  came  from  the  apparently  insensate  Mig 
gles.  The  Judge,  who  had  finally  got  the  window  down, 
put  his  head  out  and  propounded  a  series  of  questions, 
which  if  answered  categorically  would  have  undoubtedly 
elucidated  the  whole  mystery,  but  which  the  driver  evaded 
by  replying  that  "  if  we  did  n't  want  to  sit  in  the  coach  all 
night  we  had  better  rise  up  and  sing  out  for  Miggles." 

So  we  rose  up  and  called  on  Miggles  in  chorus,  then 
separately.  And  when  we  had  finished,  a  Hibernian  fel 
low  passenger  from  the  roof  called  for  "  Maygells  !  "  whereat 
we  all  laughed.  While  we  were  laughing  the  driver  cried, 
"  Shoo  !  " 

WTe  listened.  To  our  infinite  amazement  the  chorus  of 
"  Miggles  "  was  repeated  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
even  to  the  final  and  supplemental  "  Maygells." 

"  Extraordinary  echo  !  '?  said  the  Judge. 

"  Extraordinary  d — d  skunk  !  "  roared  the  driver  con 
temptuously.  "Come  out  of  that,  Miggles,  and  show 


HIGGLES  29 

yourself !  Be  a  man,  Higgles  !  Don't  hide  in  the  dark  ; 
I  would  n't  if  I  were  you,  Higgles,"  continued  Yuba  Bill, 
now  dancing  about  in  an  excess  of  fury. 

"  Higgles  !  "  continued  the  voice,  "  0  Higgles  !  " 

"  Hy  good  man  !  Hr.  Hyghail !  "  said  the  Judge,  soften 
ing  the  asperities  of  the  name  as  much  as  possible.  "  Con- 
sider  the  inhospitality  of  refusing  shelter  from  the  indent 
ency  of  the  weather  to  helpless  females.  Really,  my  dea* 
sir" —  But  a  succession  of  "  Higgles/'  ending  in  a  burst 
of  laughter,  drowned  his  voice. 

Yuba  Bill  hesitated  no  longer.  Taking  a  heavy  stone 
from  the  road,  he  battered  down  the  gate,  and  with  the 
expressman  entered  the  inclosure.  We  followed.  Nobody 
was  to  be  seen.  In  the  gathering  darkness  all  that  we 
could  distinguish  was  that  we  were  in  a  garden  —  from  tha 
rose  bushes  that  scattered  over  us  a  minute  spray  from 
their  dripping  leaves  —  and  before  a  long,  rambling  woodeu 
building. 

"  Do  you  know  this  Higgles  ?  "  asked  the  Judge  of  Yub* 
Bill. 

"  No,  nor  don't  want  to,"  said  Bill  shortly,  who  felt  tht 
Pioneer  Stage  Company  insulted  in  his  person  by  the  contu 
macious  Higgles. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  expostulated  the  Judge,  as  h* 
thought  of  the  barred  gate. 

"  Lookee  here,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  with  fine  irony,  "  had  n'i 
vou  better  go  back  and  sit  in  the  coach  till  yer  introduced  ? 
I  'm  going  in,"  and  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  t/he  build 
ing. 

A  long  room,  lighted  only  by  the  embers  of  a  fire  that 
was  dying  on  the  large  hearth  at  its  farther  extremity ;  the 
walls  curiously  papered,  and  the  nickering  firelight  bringing 
out  its  grotesque  pattern  ;  somebody  sitting  in  a  large  arm 
chair  by  the  fireplace.  All  this  we  saw  as  we  crowded  to 
gether  into  the  room  after  the  driver  and  expressman. 


80  HIGGLES 

"  Hello  !  be  you  Higgles  ?  "  said  Yuba  Bill  to  the  soli 
tary  occupant. 

The  figure  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  Yuba  Bill  walked 
wrathfully  toward  it  and  turned  the  eye  of  his  coach-lantern 
upon  its  face.  It  was  a  man's  face,  prematurely  old  and 
wrinkled,  with  very  large  eyes,  in  which  there  was  that 
expression  of  perfectly  gratuitous  solemnity  which  I  had 
sometimes  seen  in  an  owl's.  The  large  eyes  wandered  from 
Bill's  face  to  the  lantern,  and  finally  fixed  their  gaze  on 
that  luminous  object  without  further  recognition. 

Bill  restrained  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Higgles  !  be  you  deaf  ?  You  ain't  dumb  anyhow,  you 
know,"  and  Yuba  Bill  shook  the  insensate  figure  by  the 
shoulder. 

To  our  great  dismay,  as  Bill  removed  his  hand,  the  ven 
erable  stranger  apparently  collapsed,  sinking  into  half  his 
size  and  an  undistinguishable  heap  of  clothing. 

"  Well,  dern  my  skin,"  said  Bill,  looking  appealingly  at 
as,  and  hopelessly  retiring  from  the  contest. 

The  Judge  now  stepped  forward,  and  we  lifted  the  mys 
terious  invertebrate  back  into  his  original  position.  Bill 
was  dismissed  with  the  lantern  to  reconnoitre  outside,  for  it 
was  evident  that,  from  the  helplessness  of  this  solitary  man, 
there  must  be  attendants  near  at  hand,  and  we  all  drew 
around  the  fire.  The  Judge,  who  had  regained  his  author 
ity,  and  had  never  lost  his  conversational  amiability, — 
atanding  before  us  with  his  back  to  the  hearth,  —  charged 
us,  as  an  imaginary  jury,  as  follows :  — 

"  It  is  evident  that  either  our  distinguished  friend  heia 
has  reached  that  condition  described  by  Shakespeare  as  '  the 
i>ere  and  yellow  leaf,'  or  has  suffered  some  premature  abate 
ment  of  his  mental  and  physical  faculties.  Whether  he  is 
ifeally  the  Higgles  " — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  "  Higgles  !  0  Higgles  I 
Migglesy  !  Hig  !"  and,  in  fact,  the  whole  chorus  of  Hig 


WIGGLES  31 

gles  in  very  much  the  same  key  as  it  had  once  before  been 
delivered  unto  us. 

We  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  some  alarm. 
The  Judge,  in  particular,  vacated  his  position  quickly,  as 
the  voice  seemed  to  come  directly  over  his  shoulder.  The 
cause,  however,  was  soon  discovered  in  a  large  magpie  who 
was  perched  upon  a  shelf  over  the  fireplace,  and  who  imme 
diately  relapsed  into  a  sepulchral  silence,  which  contrasted 
singularly  with  his  previous  volubility.  It  was,  undoubtedly, 
his  voice  which  we  had  heard  in  the  road,  and  our  friend 
in  the  chair  was  not  responsible  for  the  discourtesy.  Yuba 
Bill,  who  reentered  the  room  after  an  unsuccessful  search, 
was  loth  to  accept  the  explanation,  and  still  eyed  the  help* 
less  sitter  with  suspicion.  He  had  found  a  shed  in  which 
he  had  put  up  his  horses,  but  he  came  back  dripping  and 
skeptical.  "  Thar  ain't  nobody  but  him  within  ten  mile  of 
the  shanty,  and  that  ar  d — d  old  skeesicks  knows  it." 

But  the  faith  of  the  majority  proved  to  be  securely  based. 
Bill  had  scarcely  ceased  growling  before  we  heard  a  quick 
step  upon  the  porch,  the  trailing  of  a  wet  skirt,  the  door 
was  flung  open,  and  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  a  sparkle 
of  dark  eyes,  and  an  utter  absence  of  ceremony  or  diffidence, 
a  young  woman  entered,  shut  the  door,  and,  panting,  leaned 
back  against  it. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  I  'm  Higgles !  " 

And  this  was  Higgles !  this  bright-eyed,  full-throated 
young  woman,  whose  wet  gown  of  coarse  blue  stuff  could 
not  hide  the  beauty  of  the  feminine  curves  to  which  it 
clung  ;  from  the  chestnut  crown  of  whose  head,  topped  by 
a  man's  oil-skin  sou'wester,  to  the  little  feet  and  ankles, 
hidden  somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  her  boy's  brogans,  all 
was  grace,  —  this  was  Higgles,  laughing  at  us,  too,  in  the 
most  airy,  frank,  off-hand  manner  imaginable. 

"  You  see,  boys,"  said  she,  quite  out  of  breath,  and 
holding  one  little  hand  against  her  side,  quite  unheeding 


82  MIGGLES 

the  speechless  discomfiture  of  our  party  or  the  complete 
demoralization  of  Yuba  Bill,  whose  features  had  relaxed 
into  an  expression  of  gratuitous  and  imbecile  cheerfulness, 

—  "  you  see,  boys,  I  was  mor'n  two  miles  away  when  you 
passed  down  the  road.     I  thought  you  might  pull  up  here, 
and  so  I  ran  the  whole  way,  knowing  nobody  was  home 
but  Jim,  —  and  —  and  —  I  'm  out  of  breath  —  and  —  that 
lets  me  out."     And  here  Higgles  caught  her  dripping  oil 
skin  hat  from  her  head,  with  a  mischievous  swirl  that  scat 
tered  a  shower  of  raindrops  over  us  ;  attempted  to  put  back 
her  hair ;   dropped  two  hairpins  in  the  attempt ;    laughed, 
and    sat  down  beside  Yuba  Bill,  with  her  hands  crossed 
lightly  on  her  lap. 

The  Judge  recovered  himself  first  and  essayed  an  extrava 
gant  compliment. 

"  I  '11  trouble  you  for  that  ha'rpin,"  said  Higgles  gravely. 
Half  a  dozen  hands  were  eagerly  stretched  forward  ;  the 
missing  hairpin  was  restored  to  its  fair  owner ;  and  Higgles, 
crossing  the  room,  looked  keenly  in  the  face  of  the  invalid. 
The  solemn  eyes  looked  back  at  hers  with  an  expression  we 
had  never  seen  before.  Life  and  intelligence  seemed  to 
struggle  back  into  the  rugged  face.  Higgles  laughed  again, 

—  it  was  a  singularly  eloquent  laugh,  —  and  turned  her 
black  eyes  and  white  teeth  once  more  towards  us. 

"  This  afflicted  person  is  "  —  hesitated  the  Judge. 

"  Jim  !  "  said  Higgles. 

"  Your  father  ?  " 

"  No !  " 

«  Brother  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

«  Husband  ?  " 

Higgles  darted  a  quick,  half-defiant  glance  at  the  two 
lady  passengers,  who  I  had  noticed  did  not  participate  in 
the  general  masculine  admiration  of  Higgles,  and  said 
gravely,  "  No  ;  it >s  Jim  !  " 


HIGGLES  $3 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  lady  passengers 
moved  closer  to  each  other  ;  the  Washoe  husband  looked 
abstractedly  at  the  fire,  and  the  tall  man  apparently  turned 
his  eyes  inward  for  self-support  at  this  emergency.  But  Mig« 
gles's  laugh,  which  was  very  infectious,  broke  the  silence. 

"  Come,"  she  said  briskly,  "  you  must  be  hungry. 
Who  '11  bear  a  hand  to  help  me  get  tea  ?  " 

She  had  no  lack  of  volunteers.  In  a  few  moments  Yuba 
Bill  was  engaged  like  Caliban  in  bearing  logs  for  this  Mi 
randa  ;  the  expressman  was  grinding  coffee  on  the  veranda ; 
to  myself  the  arduous  duty  of  slicing  bacon  was  assigned ; 
and  the  Judge  lent  each  man  his  good-humored  and  voluble 
counsel.  And  when  Higgles,  assisted  by  the  Judge  and 
our  Hibernian  "  deck-passenger,"  set  the  table  with  all  the 
available  crockery,  we  had  become  quite  joyous,  in  spite  of 
the  rain  that  beat  against  the  windows,  the  wind  that 
whirled  down  the  chimney,  the  two  ladies  who  whispered 
together  in  the  corner,  or  the  magpie,  who  uttered  a  satiri 
cal  and  croaking  commentary  on  their  conversation  from 
his  perch  above.  In  the  now  bright,  blazing  fire  we  could 
see  that  the  walls  were  papered  with  illustrated  journals, 
arranged  with  feminine  taste  and  discrimination.  The  fur 
niture  was  extemporized  and  adapted  from  candle-boxes  and 
packing-cases,  and  covered  with  gay  calico  or  the  skin  of 
some  animal.  The  armchair  of  the  helpless  Jim  was  an 
ingenious  variation  of  a  flour-barrel.  There  was  neatness, 
and  even  a  taste  for  the  picturesque,  to  be  seen  in  the  few 
details  of  the  long,  low  room. 

The  meal  was  a  culinary  success.  But  more,  it  was  a 
social  triumph,  —  chiefly,  I  think,  owing  to  the  rare  tact  of 
Higgles  in  guiding  the  conversation,  asking  all  the  questions 
herself,  yet  bearing  throughout  a  frankness  that  rejected  the 
idea  of  any  concealment  on  her  own  part,  so  that  we  talked 
of  ourselves,  of  our  prospects,  of  the  journey,  of  the  weather, 
of  each  other,  —  of  every£hing  but  our  host  and  hostess. 


94  MIGGLES 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Miggles's  conversation  waa  never 
elegant,  rarely  grammatical,  and  that  at  times  she  employed 
expletives  the  use  of  which  had  generally  been  yielded  to 
our  sex.  But  they  were  delivered  with  such  a  lighting  up 
of  teeth  and  eyes,  and  were  usually  followed  by  a  laugh  — 
a  laugh  peculiar  to  Higgles  —  so  frank  and  honest  that  it 
seemed  to  clear  the  moral  atmosphere. 

Once  during  the  meal  we  heard  a  noise  like  the  rubbing 
of  a  heavy  body  against  the  outer  walls  of  the  house.  This 
was  shortly  followed  by  a  scratching  and  sniffling  at  the 
door.  "That's  Joaquin,"  said  Higgles,  in  reply  to  our 
questioning  glances  ;  "  would  you  like  to  see  him  ?  "  Be 
fore  we  could  answer  she  had  opened  the  door,  and  disclosed 
a  half-grown  grizzly,  who  instantly  raised  himself  on  his 
haunches,  with  his  fore  paws  hanging  down  in  the  popular 
attitude  of  mendicancy,  and  looked  admiringly  at  Higgles, 
with  a  very  singular  resemblance  in  his  manner  to  Yuba 
Bill.  "  That 's  my  watch-dog,"  said  Higgles,  in  explana 
tion.  "  Oh,  he  don't  bite,"  she  added,  as  the  two  lady 
passengers  fluttered  into  a  corner.  "  Does  he,  old  Toppy  ?  " 
(the  latter  remark  being  addressed  directly  to  the  sagacious 
Joaquin).  "  I  tell  you  what,  boys,"  continued  Higgles, 
after  she  had  fed  and  closed  the  door  on  Ursa  Hinor,  "you 
were  in  big  luck  that  Joaquin  was  n  H  hanging  round  when 
you  dropped  in  to-night." 

"  Where  was  he  ?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  With  me,"  said  Higgles.  "  Lord  love  you  !  he  trots 
round  with  me  nights  like  as  if  he  was  a  man." 

We  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  listened  to  the 
wind.  Perhaps  we  all  had  the  same  picture  before  us,  — 
pf  Higgles  walking  through  the  rainy  woods  with  her  sav 
age  guardian  at  her  side.  The  Judge,  I  remember,  said 
something  about  Una  and  her  lion ;  but  Higgles  received 
it,  as  she  did  other  compliments,  with  quiet  gravity. 
Whether  she  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the  admiratiop 


HIGGLES  35 

she  excited,  —  she  could  hardly  have  been  oblivious  oi 
Yuba  Bill's  adoration,  —  I  know  not ;  but  her  very  frankness 
suggested  a  perfect  sexual  equality  that  was  cruelly  humili 
ating  to  the  younger  members  of  our  party. 

The  incident  of  the  bear  did  not  add  anything  in  Mig*  \ 
gles's  favor  to  the  opinions  of  those  of  her  own  sex  who  ! 
were  present.  In  fact,  the  repast  over,  a  chillness  radiated 
from  the  two  lady  passengers  that  no  pine  boughs  brought 
in  by  Yuba  Bill  and  cast  as  a  sacrifice  upon  the  hearth 
could  wholly  overcome.  Higgles  felt  it ;  and  suddenly 
declaring  that  it  was  time  to  "  turn  in,"  offered  to  show 
the  ladies  to  their  bed  in  an  adjoining  room.  "  You,  boys, 
will  have  to  camp  out  here  by  the  fire  as  well  as  you  can," 
she  added,  "  for  thar  ain't  but  the  one  room." 
— .  Our  sex  —  by  which,  my  dear  sir,  I  allude  of  course  to 
the  stronger  portion  of  humanit}'  —  has  been  generally  re 
lieved  from  the  imputation  of  curiosity  or  a  fondness  for 
gossip.  Yet  I  am  constrained  to  say,  that  hardly  had  the 
door  closed  on  Higgles  than  we  crowded  together,  whisper 
ing,  snickering,  smiling,  and  exchanging  suspicions,  sur 
mises,  and  a  thousand  speculations  in  regard  to  our  pretty 
hostess  and  her  singular  companion.  I  fear  that  we  even 
hustled  that  imbecile  paralytic,  who  sat  like  a  voiceless 
Hemnon  in  our  midst,  gazing  with  the  serene  indifference 
of  the  Past  in  his  passionless  eyes  upon  our  wordy  coun 
sels.  In  the  midst  of  an  exciting  discussion  the  door 
opened  again  and  Higgles  reentered. 

But  not,  apparently,  the  same  Higgles  who  a  few  hours 
before  had  flashed  upon  us.  Her  eyes  were  downcast,  and 
as  she  hesitated  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  with  a 
blanket  on  her  arm,  she  seemed  to  have  left  behind  her  the 
frank  fearlessness  which  had  charmed  us  a  moment  before. 
Coming  into  the  room,  she  drew  a  low  stool  beside  the 
paralytic's  chair,  sat  down,  drew  the  blanket  over  hei 
shoulders,  and  saying,  "  If  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  boys, 


86  HIGGLES 

as  we  're  rather  crowded,  I  '11  stop  here  to-night,"  took  the 
invalid's  withered  hand  in  her  own,  and  turned  her  eyes 
upon  the  dying  fire.  An  instinctive  feeling  that  this  was 
only  premonitory  to  more  confidential  relations,  and  per 
haps  some  shame  at  our  previous  curiosity,  kept  us  silent. 
The  rain  still  heat  upon  the  roof,  wandering  gusts  of  wind 
stirred  the  embers  into  momentary  brightness,  until,  in  a 
lull  of  the  elements,  Higgles  suddenly  lifted  up  her  head, 
and,  throwing  her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  turned  her  face 
upon  the  group  and  asked,  — 

"  Is  there  any  of  you  that  knows  me  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Think  again !  I  lived  at  Marysville  in  '53.  Every- 
body  knew  me  there,  and  everybody  had  the  right  to  know 
me.  I  kept  the  Polka  Saloon  until  I  came  to  live  with 
Jim.  That 's  six  years  ago.  Perhaps  I  've  changed 
some." 

The  absence  of  recognition  may  have  disconcerted  her. 
She  turned  her  head  to  the  fire  again,  and  it  was  some  sec 
onds  before  she  again  spoke,  and  then  more  rapidly  — 

"  Well,  you  see  I  thought  some  of  you  must  have  known 
me.  There  's  no  great  harm  done  anyway.  What  I  was 
going  to  say  was  this  :  Jim  here  "  —  she  took  his  hand  in 
both  of  hers  as  she  spoke — "  used  to  know  me,  if  you 
did  n't,  and  spent  a  heap  of  money  upon  me.  I  reckon  he 
spent  all  he  had.  And  one  day  —  it's  six  years  ago  this 
winter  —  Jim  came  into  my  back  room,  sat  down  on  my 
sofy,  like  as  you  see  him  in  that  chair,  and  never  moved 
again  without  help.  He  was  struck  all  of  a  heap,  and 
never  seemed  to  know  what  ailed  him.  The  doctors  came 
and  said  as  how  it  was  caused  all  along  of  his  way  of  life, 
—  for  Jim  was  mighty  free  and  wild-like,  —  and  that  he 
would  never  get  better,  and  couldn't  last  long  anyway. 
They  advised  me  to  send  him  to  Frisco  to  the  hospital,  for 
he  was  no  good  to  any  one  and  would  be  a  baby  all  his 


MIGGLES  37 

life.  Perhaps  it  was  something  in  Jim's  eye,  perhaps  it 
was  that  I  never  had  a  baby,  but  I  said  '  No.'  I  was  rich 
then,  for  I  was  popular  with  everybody,  —  gentlemen  like 
yourself,  sir,  came  to  see  me,  —  and  I  sold  out  my  business 
and  bought  this  yer  place,  because  it  was  sort  of  out  of  the 
way  of  travel,  you  see,  and  I  brought  my  baby  here." 

With  a  woman's  intuitive  tact  and  poetry,  she  had,  as 
she  spoke,  slowly  shifted  her  position  so  as  to  bring  the 
mute  figure  of  the  ruined  man  between  her  and  her  audi 
ence,  hiding  in  the  shadow  behind  it,  as  if  she  offered  it  as 
a  tacit  apology  for  her  actions.  Silent  and  expressionless, 
it  yet  spoke  for  her ;  helpless,  crushed,  and  smitten  with 
the  Divine  thunderbolt,  it  still  stretched  an  invisible  arm 
around  her. 

Hidden  in  the  darkness,  but  still  holding  his  hand,  she 
went  on  :  — 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  the  hang  of  things 
about  yer,  for  I  was  used  to  company  and  excitement.  I 
could  n't  get  any  woman  to  help  me,  and  a  man  I  durs  n't 
trust ;  but  what  with  the  Indians  hereabout,  who  'd  do  odd 
jobs  for  me,  and  having  everything  sent  from  the  North 
Fork,  Jim  and  I  managed  to  worry  through.  The  Doctor 
would  run  up  from  Sacramento  once  in  a  while.  He  'd 
ask  to  see  '  Miggles's  baby,'  as  he  called  Jim,  and  when 
he  'd  go  away,  he  'd  say,  '  Higgles,  you  're  a  trump,  —  God 
bless  you,'  and  it  did  n't  seem  so  lonely  after  that.  But 
the  last  time  he  was  here  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  to 
go,  '  Do  you  know,  Higgles,  your  baby  will  grow  up  to  be 
a  man  yet  and  an  honor  to  his  mother ;  but  not  here,  Hig 
gles,  not  here  !  '  And  I  thought  he  went  away  sad,  —  and 
—  and"  —  and  here  Higgles's  voice  and  head  were  some 
how  both  lost  completely  in  the  shadow. 

"  The  folks  about  here  are  very  kind,"  said  Higgles,  after 
a  pause,  coming  a  little  into  the  light  again.  "  The  men 
from  the  Fork  used  to  hang  around  here,  until  they  found 


38  MIGGLES 

they  was  n't  wanted,  and  the  women  are  kind,  and  don't 
call.  I  was  pretty  lonely  until  I  picked  up  Joaquin  in  the 
woods  yonder  one  day,  when  he  was  n't  so  high,  and  taught 
him  to  beg  for  his  dinner ;  and  then  thar  's  Polly  —  that 's 
the  magpie  —  she  knows  no  end  of  tricks,  and  makes  it 
quite  sociable  of  evenings  with  her  talk,  and  so  I  don't  feel 
like  as  I  was  the  only  living  being  about  the  ranch.  And 
Jim  here,"  said  Higgles,  with  her  old  laugh  again,  and 
coming  out  quite  into  the  firelight,  —  "  Jim  —  Why,  boys, 
you  would  admire  to  see  how  much  he  knows  for  a  man 
like  him.  Sometimes  I  bring  him  flowers,  and  he  looks  at 
'em  just  as  natural  as  if  he  knew  'em ;  and  times,  when 
we  're  sitting  alone,  I  read  him  those  things  on  the  wall. 
Why,  Lord  !  "  said  Higgles,  with  her  frank  laugh,  "  I  've 
read  him  that  whole  side  of  the  house  this  winter.  There 
never  was  such  a  man  for  reading  as  Jim." 

"  Why,"  asked  the  Judge,  "  do  you  not  marry  this  man 
to  whom  you  have  devoted  your  youthful  life  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Higgles,  "  it  would  be  playing  it 
rather  low  down  on  Jim  to  take  advantage  of  his  being  so 
helpless.  And  then,  too,  if  we  were  man  and  wife,  now, 
we  'd  both  know  that  I  was  bound  to  do  what  I  do  now  of 
my  own  accord." 

"  But  you  are  young  yet  and  attractive  "  — 

"  It 's  getting  late,"  said  Higgles  gravely,  "  and  you  'd 
better  all  turn  in.  Good-night,  boys  ;  "  and  throwing  the 
blanket  over  her  head,  Higgles  laid  herself  down  beside 
Jim's  chair,  her  head  pillowed  on  the  low  stool  that  held 
his  feet,  and  spoke  no  more.  The  fire  slowly  faded  from 
the  hearth  ;  we  each  sought  our  blankets  in  silence ;  and 
presently  there  was  no  sound  in  the  long  room  but  the  pat 
tering  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof  and  the  heavy  breathing 
of  the  sleepers. 

It  was  nearly  morning  when  I  awoke  from  a  troubled 
dream.  The  storm  had  passed,  the  stars  were  shining,  am 


HIGGLES  39 

through  the  shutterless  window  the  full  moon,  lifting  itself 
over  the  solemn  pines  without,  looked  into  the  room.  It 
touched  the  lonely  figure  in  the  chair  with  an  infinite  com 
passion,  and  seemed  to  baptize  with  a  shining  flood  the 
lowly  head  of  the  woman  whose  hair,  as  in  the  sweet  old 
story,  bathed  the  feet  of  him  she  loved.  It  even  lent 
a  kindly  poetry  to  the  rugged  outline  of  Yuba  Bill,  half 
reclining  on  his  elbow  between  them  and  his  passengers, 
with  savagely  patient  eyes  keeping  watch  and  ward.  And 
then  I  fell  asleep  and  only  woke  at  broad  day,  with  Yuba 
Bill  standing  over  rne,  and  "  All  aboard "  ringing  in  my 
ears. 

Coffee  was  waiting  for  us  on  the  table,  but  Higgles  was 
gone.  We  wandered  about  the  house  and  lingered  long 
after  the  horses  were  harnessed,  but  she  did  not  return.  It 
was  evident  that  she  wished  to  avoid  a  formal  leave-taking, 
>md  had  so  left  us  to  depart  as  we  had  come.  After  we 
had  helped  the  ladies  into  the  coach,  we  returned  to  the 
house  and  solemnly  shook  hands  with  the  paralytic  Jim, 
as  solemnly  setting  him  back  into  position  after  each  hand 
shake.  Then  we  looked  for  the  last  time  around  the  long 
low  room,  at  the  stool  where  Higgles  had  sat,  and  slowly 
took  our  seats  in  the  waiting  coach.  The  whip  cracked, 
and  we  were  off ! 

But  as  we  reached  the  highroad,  Bill's  dexterous  hand 
laid  the  six  horses  back  on  their  haunches,  and  the  stage 
stopped  with  a  jerk.  For  there,  on  a  little  eminence  beside 
the  road,  stood  Higgles,  her  hair  flying,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
her  white  handkerchief  waving,  and  her  white  teeth  flashing 
a  last  "  good-by."  We  waved  our  hats  in  return.  And 
then  Yuba  Bill,  as  if  fearful  of  further  fascination,  madly 
lashed  his  horses  forward,  and  we  sank  back  in  our 
seats. 

We  exchanged  not  a  word  until  we  reached  the  North  Forl 
and  the  stage  drew  up  at  the  Independence  House.  Then, 


40  HIGGLES 

the  Judge  leading,  we  walked  into  the  har-room  and  took 
our  places  gravely  at  the  bar. 

"  Are  your  glasses  charged,  gentlemen  ?  "  said  the  Judge, 
solemnly  taking  off  his  white  hat. 

They  were. 

"  Well,  then,  here  >s  to  Higgles  —  GOD  BLESS  HEB  1 " 

Perhaps  He  had.     Who  knows  ? 


TENNESSEE'S   PAETNEE 

I  DO  not  think  that  we  ever  knew  his  real  name.  Out 
ignorance  of  it  certainly  never  gave  us  any  social  inconven 
ience,  for  at  Sandy  Bar  in  1854  most  men  were  christened 
anew.  Sometimes  these  appellatives  were  derived  from 
some  distinctiveness  of  dress,  as  in  the  case  of  "  Dungaree 
Jack ; "  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  hahit,  as  shown  in 
"  Saleratus  Bill,"  so  called  from  an  undue  proportion  of 
that  chemical  in  his  daily  bread  ;  or  from  some  unlucky 
slip,  as  exhibited  in  "  The  Iron  Pirate,"  a  mild,  inoffensive 
man,  who  earned  that  baleful  title  by  his  unfortunate  mis 
pronunciation  of  the  term  "iron  pyrites."  Perhaps  this 
may  have  been  the  beginning  of  a  rude  heraldry ;  but  I  am 
constrained  to  think  that  it  was  because  a  man's  real  name 
in  that  day  rested  solely  upon  his  own  unsupported  state 
ment.  "  Call  yourself  Clifford,  do  you  ? "  said  Boston, 
addressing  a  timid  newcomer  with  infinite  scorn  ;  "  hell  is 
full  of  such  Cliffords  !  "  He  then  introduced  the  unfor 
tunate  man,  whose  name  happened  to  be  really  Clifford,  as 
"  Jaybird  Charley,"  —  an  unhallowed  inspiration  of  the 
moment  that  clung  to  him  ever  after. 

But  to  return  to  Tennessee's  Partner,  whom  we  never 
knew  by  any  other  than  this  relative  title.  That  he  had 
ever  existed  as  a  separate  and  distinct  individuality  we  only 
learned  later.  It  seems  that  in  1853  he  left  Poker  Flat  to 
go  to  San  Francisco,  ostensibly  to  procure  a  wife.  He 
never  got  any  farther  than  Stockton.  At  that  place  he  was 
attracted  by  a  young  person  who  waited  upon  the  table  at 
the  hotel  where  he  took  his  meals.  One  morning  he  said 


42  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

something  to  her  which  caused  her  to  smile  not  unkindly, 
to  somewhat  coquettishly  break  a  plate  of  toast  over  his 
upturned,  serious,  simple  face,  and  to  retreat  to  the  kitchen. 
He  followed  her,  and  emerged  a  few  moments  later,  covered 
with  more  toast  and  victory.  That  day  week  they  were  mar 
ried  by  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  returned  to  Poker  Flat. 
I  am  aware  that  something  more  might  be  made  of  this  epi 
sode,  but  I  prefer  to  tell  it  as  it  was  current  at  Sandy  Bar, 
—  in  the  gulches  and  bar-rooms,  —  where  all  sentiment  was 
modified  by  a  strong  sense  of  humor. 

Of  their  married  felicity  but  little  is  known,  perhaps  for 
the  reason  that  Tennessee,  then  living  with  his  partner,  one 
day  took  occasion  to  say  something  to  the  bride  on  his  own 
account,  at  which,  it  is  said,  she  smiled  not  unkindly  and 
chastely  retreated, — this  time  as  far  as  Marysville,  where 
Tennessee  followed  her,  and  where  they  went  to  house 
keeping  without  the  aid  of  a  justice  of  the  peace.  Ten 
nessee's  Partner  took  the  loss  of  his  wife  simply  and  seri 
ously,  as  was  his  fashion.  But  to  everybody's  surprise, 
when  Tennessee  one  day  returned  from  Marysville,  without 
his  partner's  wife,  —  she  having  smiled  and  retreated  with 
somebody  else,  —  Tennessee's  Partner  was  the  first  man 
to  shake  his  hand  and  greet  him  with  affection.  The 
boys  who  had  gathered  in  the  canon  to  see  the  shooting 
were  naturally  indignant.  Their  indignation  might  have 
found  vent  in  sarcasm  but  for  a  certain  look  in  Tennessee's 
Partner's  eye  that  indicated  a  lack  of  humorous  appreciation. 
In  fact,  he  was  a  grave  man,  with  a  steady  application  to 
practical  detail  which  was  unpleasant  in  a  difficulty. 

Meanwhile  a  popular  feeling  against  Tennessee  had 
grown  up  on  the  Bar.  He  was  known  to  be  a  gambler; 
he  was  suspected  to  be  a  thief.  In  these  suspicions  Ten 
nessee's  Partner  was  equally  compromised ;  his  continued 
intimacy  with  Tennessee  after  the  affair  above  quoted  could 
only  be  accounted  for  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  copartnership 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER  43 

of  crime.  At  last  Tennessee's  guilt  became  flagrant.  One 
day  he  overtook  a  stranger  on  his  way  to  Red  Dog.  The 
stranger  afterward  related  that  Tennessee  beguiled  the  time 
with  interesting  anecdote  and  reminiscence,  but  illogically 
concluded  the  interview  in  the  following  words :  "  And 
now,  young  man,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your  knife,  your 
pistols,  and  your  money.  You  see  your  weppings  might 
get  you  into  trouble  at  Red  Dog,  and  your  money  7s  a 
temptation  to  the  evilly  disposed.  I  think  you  said  your 
address  was  San  Francisco.  I  shall  endeavor  to  call."  It 
may  be  stated  here  that  Tennessee  had  a  fine  flow  of 
humor,  which  no  business  preoccupation  could  wholly  sub 
due. 

This  exploit  was  his  last.  Red  Dog  and  Sandy  Bar 
made  common  cause  against  the  highwayman.  Tennessee 
was  hunted  in  very  much  the  same  fashion  as  his  prototype, 
the  grizzly.  As  the  toils  closed  around  him,  he  made  a 
desperate  dash  through  the  Bar,  emptying  his  revolver  at 
the  crowd  before  the  Arcade  Saloon,  and  so  on  up  Grizzly 
Canon  ;  but  at  its  farther  extremity  he  was  stopped  by  a 
small  man  on  a  gray  horse.  The  men  looked  at  each  other 
a  moment  in  silence.  Both  were  fearless,  both  self-pos 
sessed  and  independent,  and  both  types  of  a  civilization 
that  in  the  seventeenth  century  would  have  been  called 
heroic,  but  in  the  nineteenth  simply  "  reckless." 

"  What  have  you  got  there  ?  —  I  call,"  said  Tennessee 
quietly. 

"  Two  bowers  and  an  ace,"  said  the  stranger  as  quietly, 
showing  two  revolvers  and  a  bowie-knife. 

"  That  takes  me,"  returned  Tennessee  ;  and,  with  this 
gambler's  epigram,  he  threw  away  his  useless  pistol  and 
rode  back  with  his  captor. 

It  was  a  warm  night.  The  cool  breeze  which  usually 
sprang  up  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun  behind  the 
chaparral-crested  mountain  was  that  evening  withheld  from 


44  TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER 

Sandy  Bar.  The  little  canon  was  stifling  with  heated 
resinous  odors,  and  the  decaying  driftwood  on  the  Bar  sent 
forth  faint  sickening  exhalations.  The  feverishness  of  day 
and  its  fierce  passions  still  filled  the  camp.  Lights  moved 
restlessly  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  striking  no  answering 
reflection  from  its  tawny  current.  Against  the  blackness 
of  the  pines  the  windows  of  the  old  loft  above  the  express- 
office  stood  out  staringly  bright ;  and  through  their  curtain- 
less  panes  the  loungers  below  could  see  the  forms  of  those 
who  were  even  then  deciding  the  fate  of  Tennessee.  And 
above  all  this,  etched  on  the  dark  firmament,  rose  the 
Sierra,  remote  and  passionless,  crowned  with  remoter  pas 
sionless  stars. 

The  trial  of  Tennessee  was  conducted  as  fairly  as  was 
consistent  with  a  judge  and  jury  who  felt  themselves  to 
some  extent  obliged  to  justify,  in  their  verdict,  the  previous 

^irregularities  of  arrest  and  indictment.  The  law  of  Sandy 
Bar  was  implacable,  but  not  vengeful.  The  excitement  and 
personal  feeling  of  the  chase  were  over ;  with  Tennessee 
safe  in  their  hands,  they  were  ready  to  listen  patiently  to 
any  defense,  which  they  were  already  satisfied  was  insuffi 
cient.  There  being  no  doubt  in  their  own  minds,  they 
were  willing  to  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  any  that 
might  exist.  Secure  in  the  hypothesis  that  he  ought  to  be 
hanged  on  general  principles,  they  indulged  him  with  more 
latitude  of  defense  than  his  reckless  hardihood  seemed  to 
ask.  The  Judge  appeared  to  be  more  anxious  than  the 
prisoner,  who,  otherwise  unconcerned,  evidently  took  a  grim 
pleasure  in  the  responsibility  he  had  created.  "  I  don't 
take  any  hand  in  this  yer  game,"  had  been  his  invariable 
but  good-humored  reply  to  all  questions.  The  Judge  — 

\  who  was  also  his  captor  —  for  a  moment  vaguely  regretted 
that  he  had  not  shot  him  "  on  sight "  that  morning,  but 
presently  dismissed  this  human  weakness  as  unworthy  of 
the  judicial  mind.  Nevertheless,  when  there  was  a  tap  at 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  45 

the  door,  and  it  was  said  that  Tennessee's  Partner  was  there 
on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  he  was  admitted  at  once  without 
question.  Perhaps  the  younger  members  of  the  jury,  to 
whom  the  proceedings  were  becoming  irksomely  thoughtful, 
hailed  him  as  a  relief. 

For  he  was  not,  certainly,  an  imposing  figure.  Short  and 
stout,  with  a  square  face,  sunburned  into  a  preternatural 
redness,  clad  in  a  loose  duck  "jumper"  and  trousers 
streaked  and  splashed  with  red  soil,  his  aspect  under  any 
circumstances  would  have  been  quaint,  and  was  now  even 
ridiculous.  As  he  stooped  to  deposit  at  his  feet  a  heavy 
carpetbag  he  was  carrying,  it  became  obvious,  from  partially 
developed  legends  and  inscriptions,  that  the  material  with 
which  his  trousers  had  been  patched  had  been  originally  in 
tended  for  a  less  ambitious  covering.  Yet  he  advanced  with 
great  gravity,  and  after  shaking  the  hand  of  each  person  in 
the  room  with  labored  cordiality,  he  wiped  his  serious  per 
plexed  face  on  a  red  bandana  handkerchief,  a  shade  lighter 
than  his  complexion,  laid  his  powerful  hand  upon  the  table 
to  steady  himself,  and  thus  addressed  the  Judge :  — 

"  I  was  passin'  by,"  he  began,  by  way  of  apology,  "  and 
I  thought  I  'd  just  step  in  and  see  how  things  was  gittin' 
on  with  Tennessee  thar,  —  my  pardner.  It  'a  a  hot  night. 
I  disremember  any  sich  weather  before  on  the  Bar." 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  nobody  volunteering  any  other 
meteorological  recollection,  he  again  had  recourse  to  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  for  some  moments  mopped  his 
face  diligently. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner  ?  " 
said  the  Judge  finally. 

"  Thet  's  it,"  said  Tennessee's  Partner,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
"  I  come  yar  as  Tennessee's  pardner,  —  knowing  him  nigh 
on  four  year,  off  and  on,  wet  and  dry,  in  luck  and  out  o' 
luck.  His  ways  ain't  aller  my  ways,  but  thar  ain't  any 
p'ints  in  that  young  man,  thar  ain't  any  liveliness  as  he 's 


46  TENNESSEE'S  PAKTNER 

been  up  to,  as  I  don't  know.  And  you  sez  to  me,  sez  you, 
—  confidential-like,  and  between  man  and  man,  —  sez  you, 
*  Do  you  know  anything  in  his  behalf  ?  '  and  I  sez  to  you, 
sez  I,  —  confidential  -  like,  as  between  man  and  man,  — 
1  What  should  a  man  know  of  his  pardner  ? ' ' 

"  Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  asked  the  Judge  impa 
tiently,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  a  dangerous  sympathy  of 
humor  was  beginning  to  humanize  the  court. 

"  Thet  's  so,"  continued  Tennessee's  Partner.  "  It  ain't 
for  me  to  say  anything  agin'  him.  And  now,  what 's  the 
case  ?  Here 's  Tennessee  wants  money,  wants  it  bad,  and 
does  n't  like  to  ask  it  of  his  old  pardner.  Well,  what  does 
Tennessee  do  ?  He  lays  for  a  stranger,  and  he  fetches  that 
stranger ;  and  you  lays  for  him,  and  you  fetches  him  ;  and 
the  honors  is  easy.  And  I  put  it  to  you,  bein'  a  fa'r-minded 
man,  and  to  you,  gentlemen  all,  as  fa'r-minded  men,  ef  this 
is  n't  so.7' 

"  Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  interrupting,  "  have  you  any 
questions  to  ask  this  man  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  continued  Tennessee's  Partner  hastily.  "  I 
play  this  yer  hand  alone.  To  come  down  to  the  bed-rock, 
it 's  just  this :  Tennessee,  thar,  has  played  it  pretty  rough 
and  expensive-like  on  a  stranger,  and  on  this  yer  camp. 
And  now,  what 's  the  fair  thing  ?  Some  would  say  more, 
some  would  say  less.  Here  ?s  seventeen  hundred  dollars  in 
coarse  gold  and  a  watch,  —  it 's  about  all  my  pile,  —  and 
call  it  square  !  "  And  before  a  hand  could  be  raised  to 
prevent  him,  he  had  emptied  the  contents  of  the  carpetbag 
upon  the  table. 

For  a  moment  his  life  was  in  jeopardy.  One  or  two 
men  sprang  to  their  feet,  several  hands  groped  for  hidden 
weapons,  and  a  suggestion  to  "  throw  him  from  the  win 
dow  "  was  only  overridden  by  a  gesture  from  the  Judge. 
Tennessee  laughed.  And  apparently  oblivious  of  the  ex 
citement,  Tennessee's  Partner  improved  the  opportunity  to 
mop  his  face  again  with  his  handkerchief. 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  47 

When  order  was  restored,  and  the  man  was  made  to 
understand,  by  the  use  of  forcible  figures  and  rhetoric,  that 
Tennessee's  offense  could  not  be  condoned  by  money,  his 
face  took  a  more  serious  and  sanguinary  hue,  and  those 
who  were  nearest  to  him  noticed  that  his  rough  hand 
trembled  slightly  on  the  table.  He  hesitated  a  moment  as 
he  slowly  returned  the  gold  to  the  carpetbag,  as  if  he  had 
not  yet  entirely  caught  the  elevated  sense  of  justice  which 
swayed  the  tribunal,  and  was  perplexed  with  the  belief  that 
he  had  not  offered  enough.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Judge, 
and  saying,  "  This  yer  is  a  lone  hand,  played  alone,  and 
without  my  pardner,"  he  bowed  to  the  jury  and  was  about 
to  withdraw,  when  the  Judge  called  him  back :  — 

"  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  Tennessee,  you  had 
better  say  it  now." 

For  the  first  time  that  evening  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner 
and  his  strange  advocate  met.  Tennessee  smiled,  showed 
his  white  teeth,  and  saying,  "  Euchred,  old  man !  "  held 
out  his  hand.  Tennessee's  Partner  took  it  in  his  own,  and 
saying,  "  I  just  dropped  in  as  I  was  passin'  to  see  how 
things  was  gettin'  on,"  let  the  hand  passively  fall,  and  add 
ing  that  u  it  was  a  warm  night,"  again  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief,  and  without  another  word  withdrew. 

The  two  men  never  again  met  each  other  alive.  For  the 
unparalleled  insult  of  a  bribe  offered  to  Judge  Lynch  — 
who,  whether  bigoted,  weak,  or  narrow,  was  at  least  incor 
ruptible  —  firmly  fixed  in  the  mind  of  that  mythical  per 
sonage  any  wavering  determination  of  Tennessee's  fate  • 
and  at  the  break  of  day  he  was  marched,  closely  guarded, 
to  meet  it  at  the  top  of  Marley's  Hill. 

How  he  met  it,  how  cool  he  was,  how  he  refused  to  say 
anything,  how  perfect  were  the  arrangements  of  the  com 
mittee,  were  all  duly  reported,  with  the  addition  of  a  warn 
ing  moral  and  example  to  all  future  evil-doers,  in  the  "  Red 
Dog  Clarion,"  by  its  editor,  who  was  present,  and  to  whose 
-vigorous  English  I  cheerfully  refer  the  reader.  But  the 


48  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

beauty  of  that  midsummer  morning,  the  blessed  amity  oi 
earth  and  air  and  sky,  the  awakened  life  of  the  free  woods 
and  hills,  the  joyous  renewal  and  promise  of  Nature,  and 
above  all,  the  infinite  serenity  that  thrilled  through  each, 
was  not  reported,  as  not  being  a  part  of  the  social  lesson. 
And  yet,  when  the  weak  and  foolish  deed  was  done,  and  a 
life,  with  its  possibilities  and  responsibilities,  had  passed 
out  of  the  misshapen  thing  that  dangled  between  earth  and 
sky,  the  birds  sang,  the  flowers  bloomed,  the  sun  shone,  as 
cheerily  as  before  ;  and  possibly  the  "  Red  Dog  Clarion  " 
was  right. 

Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  in  the  group  that  surrounded 
the  ominous  tree.  But  as  they  turned  to  disperse,  atten 
tion  was  drawn  to  the  singular  appearance  of  a  motionless 
donkey-cart  halted  at  the  side  of  the  road.  As  they  ap 
proached,  they  at  once  recognized  the  venerable  "  Jenny  " 
and  the  two-wheeled  cart  as  the  property  of  Tennessee's 
Partner,  used  by  him  in  carrying  dirt  from  his  claim ;  and 
a  few  paces  distant  the  owner  of  the  equipage  himself, 
sitting  under  a  buckeye-tree,  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  glowing  face.  In  answer  to  an  inquiry,  he  said  he  had 
come  for  the  body  of  the  "  diseased,"  "  if  it  was  all  the 
same  to  the  committee."  He  did  n't  wish  to  "  hurry  any 
thing  ;  "  he  could  "  wait."  He  was  not  working  that  day ; 
and  when  the  gentlemen  were  done  with  the  "  diseased," 
he  would  take  him.  "  Ef  thar  is  any  present,"  he  added, 
in  his  simple,  serious  way,  "  as  would  care  to  jine  in  the 
fun'l,  they  kin  come."  Perhaps  it  was  from  a  sense  of 
humor,  which  I  have  already  intimated  was  a  feature  of 
Sandy  Bar,  —  perhaps  it  was  from  something  even  better 
than  that,  but  two  thirds  of  the  loungers  accepted  the  in 
vitation  at  once. 

It  was  noon  when  the  body  of  Tennessee  was  delivered 
into  the  hands  of  his  partner.  As  the  cart  drew  up  to  the 
fatal  tree,  we  noticed  that  it  contained  a  rough  oblong  box. 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  49 

—  apparently  made  from  a  section  of  sluicing,  —  and  half 
filled  with  bark  and  the  tassels  of  pine.  The  cart  was 
further  decorated  with  slips  of  willow  and  made  fragrant 
with  buckeye-blossoms.  When  the  body  was  deposited  in 
the  box,  Tennessee's  Partner  drew  over  it  a  piece  of  tarred 
canvas,  and  gravely  mounting  the  narrow  seat  in  front,  with 
his  feet  upon  the  shafts,  urged  the  little  donkey  forward. 
The  equipage  moved  slowly  on,  at  that  decorous  pace  which 
was  habitual  with  Jenny  even  under  less  solemn  circum 
stances.  The  men  —  half  curiously,  half  jestingly,  but 
all  good-humoredly  —  strolled  along  beside  the  cart,  some 
in  advance,  some  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  homely  cata 
falque.  But  whether  from  the  narrowing  of  the  road  or 
some  present  sense  of  decorum,  as  the  cart  passed  on,  the 
company  fell  to  the  rear  in  couples,  keeping  step,  and 
otherwise  assuming  the  external  show  of  a  formal  proces 
sion.  Jack  Folinsbee,  who  had  at  the  outset  played  a  fu 
neral  march  in  dumb  show  upon  an  imaginary  trombone, 
desisted  from  a  lack  of  sympathy  and  appreciation,  —  not 
having,  perhaps,  your  true  humorist's  capacity  to  be  con 
tent  with  the  enjoyment  of  his  own  fun. 
—  The  way  led  through  Grizzly  Canon,  by  this  time 
clothed  in  funereal  drapery  arid  shadows.  The  redwoods, 
burying  their  moccasined  feet  in  the  red  soil,  stood  in 
Indian  file  along  the  track,  trailing  an  uncouth  benediction 
from  their  bending  boughs  upon  the  passing  bier.  A  hare, 
surprised  into  helpless  inactivity,  sat  upright  and  pulsating 
in  the  ferns  by  the  roadside  as  the  cortege  went  by. 
Squirrels  hastened  to  gain  a  secure  outlook  from  higher 
boughs  ;  and  the  blue-jays,  spreading  their  wings,  fluttered 
before  them  like  outriders,  until  the  outskirts  of  Sandy  Bar 
were  reached,  and  the  solitary  cabin  of  Tennessee's  Partner. 
Viewed  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  it  would 
not  have  been  a  cheerful  place.  The  unpicturesque  site, 
the  rude  and  unlovely  outlines,  the  unsavory  details,  which 


50  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

distinguish  the  nest-building  of  the  California  miner  were 
all  here  with  the  dreariness  of  decay  superadded.  A  few 
paces  from  the  cahin  there  was  a  rough  inclosure,  which, 
in  the  brief  days  of  Tennessee's  Partner's  matrimonial 
felicity,  had  been  used  as  a  garden,  but  was  now  overgrown 
with  fern.  As  we  approached  it,  we  were  surprised  to  find 
that  what  we  had  taken  for  a  recent  attempt  at  cultivation 
was  the  broken  soil  about  an  open  grave. 

Ttn  cart  was  halted  before  the  inclosure,  and  rejecting 
the  oft'ers  of  assistance  with  the  same  air  of  simple  self- 
reliance  he  had  displayed  throughout,  Tennessee's  Partner 
lifted  the  rough  coffin  on  his  back,  and  deposited  it  unaided 
within  the  shallow  grave.  He  then  nailed  down  the  board 
which  served  as  a  lid,  and  mounting  the  little  mound  of 
earth  beside  it,  took  off  his  hat  and  slowly  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief.  This  the  crowd  felt  was  a  prelimi 
nary  to  speech,  and  they  disposed  themselves  variously  on 
stumps  and  boulders,  and  sat  expectant. 

"  When  a  man,"  began  Tennessee's  Partner  slowly,  "has 
been  running  free  all  day,  what 's  the  natural  thing  for  him 
to  do  ?  Why,  to  come  home.  And  if  he  ain't  in  a  condi 
tion  to  go  home,  what  can  his  best  friend  do  ?  Why,  bring 
him  home.  And  here  's  Tennessee  has  been  running  free, 
and  we  brings  him  home  from  his  wandering."  He  paused 
and  picked  up  a  fragment  of  quartz,  rubbed  it  thoughtfully 
on  his  sleeve,  and  went  on :  "  It  ain't  the  first  time  that 
I  've  packed  him  on  my  back,  as  you  see'd  me  now.  It 
ain't  the  first  time  that  I  brought  him  to  this  yer  cabin 
when  he  could  n't  help  himself  ;  it  ain't  the  first  time  that 
T  and  Jinny  have  waited  for  him  on  yon  hill,  and  picked 
him  up  and  so  fetched  him  home,  when  he  could  n't  speak 
and  did  n't  know  me.  And  now  that  it 's  the  last  time, 
why  "  —  he  paused  and  rubbed  the  quartz  gently  on  his 
sleeve  —  "  you  see  it 's  sort  of  rough  on  his  pardner.  And 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER  51 

OCAV,  gentlemen,"  he  added  abruptly,  picking  up  his  long* 
nandbd  shovel,  "  the  fun'l  's  over ;  and  my  thanks,  and 
Tennessee's  thanks,  to  you  for  your  trouble." 

Resisting  any  proffers  of  assistance,  he  began  to  fill  in 
the  grave,  turning  his  back  upon  the  crowd,  that  after  a 
few  moments'  hesitation  gradually  withdrew.  As  they 
crossed  the  little  ridge  that  hid  Sandy  Bar  from  view, 
some,  looking  back,  thought  they  could  see  Tennessee's 
.Partner,  his  work  done,  sitting  upon  the  grave,  his  shovel 
between  his  knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his  red  bandana 
handkerchief.  But  it  was  argued  by  others  that  you 
could  n't  tell  his  face  from  his  handkerchief  at  that  dis 
tance,  and  this  point  remained  undecided. 

In  the  reaction  that  followed  the  feverish  excitement  of 
that  day,  Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  forgotten.  A  secret 
investigation  had  cleared  him  of  any  complicity  in  Tennes 
see's  guilt,  and  left  only  a  suspicion  of  his  general  sanity. 
Sandy  Bar  made  a  point  of  calling  on  him,  and  proffering 
various  uncouth  but  well-meant  kindnesses.  But  from  that 
day  his  rude  health  and  great  strength  seemed  visibly  to 
decline  ;  and  when  the  rainy  season  fairly  set  in,  and  the 
tiny  grass-blades  were  beginning  to  peep  from  the  rocky 
rnound  above  Tennessee's  grave,  he  took  to  his  bed. 

One  night,  when  the  pines  beside  the  cabin  were  swaying 
In  the  storm  and  trailing  their  slender  fingers  over  the  roof, 
and  the  roar  and  rush  of  the  swollen  river  were  heard  below, 
Tennessee's  Partner  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow,  saying, 
"  It  is  time  to  go  for  Tennessee ;  I  must  put  Jinny  in 
the  cart ;  "  and  would  have  risen  from  his  bed  but  for  the 
restraint  of  his  attendant.  Struggling,  he  still  pursued  his 
singular  fancy  :  "  There,  now,  steady,  Jinny,  —  steady,  old 
girl.  How  dark  it  is !  Look  out  for  the  ruts,  —  and  look 
out  for  him,  too,  old  gal.  Sometimes,  you  know,  when  he  '9 
blind  drunk,  he  drops  down  right  in  the  trail.  Keep  on 


52  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

straight  up  to  the  pine  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  Thar !  1 
told  you  so  !  —  thar  he  is,  —  coming  this  way,  too,  —  all 
by  himself,  sober,  and  his  face  a-shining.  Tennessee ! 
Pardner ! " 

And  so  they  met. 


THE  IDYL  OF  EED  GULCH 

SANDY  was  very  drunk.  He  was  lying  under  an  azalea* 
bush,  in  pretty  much  the  same  attitude  in  which  he  had 
fallen  some  hours  before.  How  long  he  had  been  lying 
there  he  could  not  tell,  and  did  n't  care ;  how  long  he 
should  lie  there  was  a  matter  equally  indefinite  and  uncon- 
sidered.  A  tranquil  philosophy,  born  of  his  physical  con 
dition,  suffused  and  saturated  his  moral  being. 

The  spectacle  of  a  drunken  man,  and  of  this  drunken 
man  in  particular,  was  not,  I  grieve  to  say,  of  sufficient 
novelty  in  Ked  Gulch  to  attract  attention.  Earlier  in  the 
day  some  local  satirist  had  erected  a  temporary  tombstone 
at  Sandy's  head,  bearing  the  inscription,  "  Effects  of 
McCorkle's  whiskey  —  kills  at  forty  rods,"  with  a  hand 
pointing  to  McCorkle's  saloon.  But  this,  I  imagine,  was, 
like  most  local  satire,  personal ;  and  was  a  reflection  upon 
the  unfairness  of  the  process  rather  than  a  commentary  upon 
the  impropriety  of  the  result.  With  this  facetious  excep 
tion,  Sandy  had  been  undisturbed.  A  wandering  mule, 
released  from  his  pack,  had  cropped  the  scant  herbage  beside 
him,  and  sniffed  curiously  at  the  prostrate  man ;  a  vagabond 
dog,  with  that  deep  sympathy  which  the  species  have  for 
drunken  men,  had  licked  his  dusty  boots  and  curled  him 
self  up  at  his  feet,  and  lay  there,  blinking  one  eye  in  the 
sunlight,  with  a  simulation  of  dissipation  that  was  ingenious 
and  dog-like  in  its  implied  flattery  of  the  unconscious  man 
beside  him. 

Meanwhile  the  shadows  of  the  pine-trees  had  slowly 
•wung  around  until  they  crossed  the  road,  and  their  trunks 


54  THE   IDYL   OF   RED   GULCH 

Barred  the  open  meadow  with  gigantic  parallels  of  black 
«ind  yellow.  Little  puffs  of  red  dust,  lifted  by  the  plung 
ing  hoofs  of  passing  teams,  dispersed  in  a  grimy  shower  upon 
the  recumbent  man.  The  sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  and  still 
Sandy  stirred  not.  And  then  the  repose  of  this  philoso 
pher  was  disturbed,  as  other  philosophers  have  been,  by 
the  intrusion  of  an  unphilosophical  sex. 

"  Miss  Mary,  "  as  she  was  known  to  the  little  flock  that 
she  had  just  dismissed  from  the  log  schoolhouse  beyond  the 
pines,  was  taking  her  afternoon  walk.  Observing  an  unu 
sually  fine  cluster  of  blossoms  on  the  azalea-bush  opposite, 
she  crossed  the  road  to  pluck  it,  picking  her  way  through 
the  red  dust,  not  without  certain  fierce  little  shivers  of  dis 
gust  and  some  feline  circumlocution.  And  then  she  came 
suddenly  upon  Sandy  ! 

Of  course  she  uttered  the  little  staccato  cry  of  her  sex. 
But  when  she  had  paid  that  tribute  to  her  physical  weak 
ness  she  became  overbold  and  halted  for  a  moment,  —  at 
least  six  feet  from  this  prostrate  monster, —  with  her  white 
skirts  gathered  in  her  hand,  ready  for  flight.  But  neither 
sound  nor  motion  came  from  the  bush.  With  one  little 
foot  she  then  overturned  the  satirical  headboard,  and  mut 
tered  "Beasts!" — an  epithet  which  probably,  at  that 
moment,  conveniently  classified  in  her  mind  the  entire 
tuale  population  of  Red  Gulch.  For  Miss  Mary,  being  pos 
sessed  of  certain  rigid  notions  of  her  own,  had  not,  perhaps, 
properly  appreciated  the  demonstrative  gallantry  for  which 
the  Californian  has  been  so  justly  celebrated  by  his  brother 
Californians,  and  had,  as  a  newcomer,  perhaps  fairly  earned 
the  reputation  of  being  "  stuck  up." 

As  she  stood  there  she  noticed,  also,  that  the  slant  sun 
beams  were  heating  Sandy's  head  to  what  she  judged  to  be 
[in  unhealthy  temperature,  and  that  his  hat  was  lying  use- 
fessly  at  his  side.  To  pick  it  up  and  to  place  it  over 
Ois  face  was  a  work  requiring  some  courage,  particularly  as 


THE   IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH  55 

his  eyes  were  open.  Yet  she  did  it  and  made  good  her  re 
treat.  But  she  was  somewhat  concerned,  on  looking  back, 
to  see  that  the  hat  was  removed,  and  that  Sandy  was  sitting 
up  and  saying  something. 

The  truth  was,  that  in  the  calm  depths  of  Sandy's  mind 
he  was  satisfied  that  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  beneficial  and 
healthful ;  that  from  childhood  he  had  objected  to  lying 
down  in  a  hat ;  that  no  people  but  condemned  fools,  past 
redemption,  ever  wore  hats ;  and  that  his  right  to  dispense 
with  them  when  he  pleased  was  inalienable.  This  was  the 
statement  of  his  inner  consciousness.  Unfortunately,  its 
outward  expression  was  vague,  being  limited  to  a  repetition 
of  the  following  formula  :  "  Su'shine  all  ri' !  Wasser  maar, 
eh  ?  Wass  up,  su'shine  ?  " 

Miss  Mary  stopped,  and,  taking  fresh  courage  from  her 
vantage  of  distance,  asked  him  if  there  was  anything  that 
he  wanted. 

"  Wass  up  ?  Wasser  maar  ?  "  continued  Sandy,  in  a 
very  high  key. 

"  Get  up,  you  horrid  man  !  "  said  Miss  Mary,  now  trior- 
oughly  incensed  ;  "  get  up  and  go  home." 

Sandy  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  was  six  feet  high,  and 
*Miss  Mary  trembled.  He  started  forward  a  few  paces  and 
then  stopped. 

"  Wass  I  go  home  for  ?  "  he  suddenly  asked,  with  great 
gravity. 

"  Go  and  take  a  bath,"  replied  Miss  Mary,  eying  his 
grimy  person  with  great  disfavor. 

To  her  infinite  dismay,  Sandy  suddenly  pulled  off  his 
coat  and  vest,  threw  them  on  the  ground,  kicked  off  his 
boot^,  and,  plunging  wildly  forward,  darted  headlong  over 
the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

"  Goodness  heavens !  the  man  will  be  drowned  !  "  said 
•  Miss  Mary  ;  and  then,  with  feminine  inconsistency,  she  ran 
back  to  the  schoolhouse  gnd  locked  herself  in. 


56  THE   IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH 

That  night,  while  seated  at  supper  with  her  hostess,  the 
Hacksmith's  wife,  it  came  to  Miss  Mary  to  ask,  demurely, 
if  her  husband  ever  got  drunk.  "  Abner,"  responded  Mrs. 
Stidger  reflectively,  —  "  let 's  see  !  Abner  has  n't  been  tight 
since  last  'lection."  Miss  Mary  would  have  liked  to  ask  if 
he  preferred  lying  in  the  sun  on  these  occasions,  and  if  a 
cold  bath  would  have  hurt  him  ;  but  this  would  have  in 
volved  an  explanation,  which  she  did  not  then  care  to  give. 
So  she  contented  herself  with  opening  her  gray  eyes  widely 
at  the  red-cheeked  Mrs.  Stidger,  —  a  fine  specimen  of  South 
western  efflorescence,  —  and  then  dismissed  the  subject  alto 
gether.  The  next  day  she  wrote  to  her  dearest  friend  in 
Boston  :  "I  think  I  find  the  intoxicated  portion  of  this 
community  the  least  objectionable.  I  refer,  my  dear,  to 
the  men,  of  course.  I  do  not  know  anything  that  could 
make  the  women  tolerable." 

In  less  than  a  week  Miss  Mary  had  forgotten  this  episode, 
except  that  her  afternoon  walks  took  thereafter,  almost  un 
consciously,  another  direction.  She  noticed,  however,  that 
every  morning  a  fresh  cluster  of  azalea  blossoms  appeared 
among  the  flowers  on  her  desk.  This  was  not  strange,  as 
her  little  flock  were  aware  of  her  fondness  for  flowers,  and 
invariably  kept  her  desk  bright  with  anemones,  syringas, 
and  lupines  ;  but,  on  questioning  them,  they  one  and  all 
professed  ignorance  of  the  azaleas.  A  few  days  later,  Master 
Johnny  Stidger,  whose  desk  was  nearest  to  the  window, 
was  suddenly  taken  with  spasms  of  apparently  gratuitous 
laughter,  that  threatened  the  discipline  of  the  school.  All 
that  Miss  Mary  could  get  from  him  was,  that  some  one  had 
been  "looking  in  the  winder."  Irate  and  indignant,  she 
sallied  from  her  hive  to  do  battle  with  the  intruder.  As  she 
turned  the  corner  of  the  schoolhouse  she  came  plump  upon 
the  quondam  drunkard,  now  perfectly  sober,  and  inexpres 
sibly  sheepish  and  guilty-looking. 

These  facts  Miss  Mary  was  not  slow  to  take  a  feminine 


THE   IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH  57 

advantage  of,  in  her  present  humor.  But  it  was  somewhat 
confusing  to  observe,  also,  that  the  beast,  despite  some  faint 
signs  of  past  dissipation,  was  amiable-looking,  —  in  fact,  a 
kind  of  blond  Samson,  whose  corn-colored  silken  beard 
apparently  had  never  yet  known  the  touch  of  barber's  razor 
or  Delilah's  shears.  So  that  the  cutting  speech  which 
quivered  on  her  ready  tongue  died  upon  her  lips,  and  she 
contented  herself  with  receiving  his  stammering  apology 
with  supercilious  eyelids  and  the  gathered  skirts  of  uncon- 
tamination.  When  she  reentered  the  schoolroom,  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  azaleas  with  a  new  sense  of  revelation  ;  and 
then  she  laughed,  and  the  little  people  all  laughed,  and  they 
were  all  unconsciously  very  happy. 

It  was  a  hot  day,  and  not  long  after  this,  that  two 
short-legged  boys  came  to  grief  on  the  threshold  of  the 
school  with  a  pail  of  water,  which  they  had  laboriously 
brought  from  the  spring,  and  that  Miss  Mary  compassion 
ately  seized  the  pail  and  started  for  the  spring  herself.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill  a  shadow  crossed  her  path,  and  a  blue- 
shirted  arm  dexterously  but  gently  relieved  her  of  her 
burden.  Miss  Mary  was  both  embarrassed  and  angry.  "  If 
you  carried  more  of  that  for  yourself,"  she  said  spitefully 
to  the  blue  arm,  without  deigning  to  raise  her  lashes  to  its 
owner,  "  you  'd  do  better."  In  the  submissive  silence  that 
followed  she  regretted  the  speech,  and  thanked  him  so 
sweetly  at  the  door  that  he  stumbled.  Which  caused  the 
children  to  laugh  again,  —  a  laugh  in  which  Miss  Mary 
joined,  until  the  color  came  faintly  into  her  pale  cheek. 
The  next  day  a  barrel  was  mysteriously  placed  beside  the 
door,  and  as  mysteriously  filled  with  fresh  spring-water 
every  morning. 

Nor  was  this  superior  young  person  without  other  quiet 
attentions.  "  Profane  Bill,"  driver  of  the  Slumgullion 
Stage,  widely  known  in  the  newspapers  for  his  "  gallan 
try  "  in  invariably  offering  the  box-seat  to  the  fair  sex,  had 


58  THE   IDYL  OF   RED   GULCH 

excepted  Miss  Mary  from  this  attention,  on  the  ground 
that  he  had  a  habit  of  "  cussin'  on  up  grades,"  and  gave 
her  half  the  coach  to  herself.  Jack  Hamlin,  a  gambler, 
having  once  silently  ridden  with  her  in  the  same  coach, 
afterward  threw  a  decanter  at  the  head  of  a  confederate  foi 
mentioning  her  name  in  a  bar-room.  The  over-dressed 
mother  of  a  pupil  whose  paternity  was  doubtful  had  often 
lingered  near  this  astute  Vestal's  temple,  never  daring  to 
enter  its  sacred  precincts,  but  content  to  worship  the  priest 
ess  from  afar. 

With  such  unconscious  intervals  the  monotonous  proces 
sion  of  blue  skies,  glittering  sunshine,  brief  twilights,  and 
starlit  nights  passed  over  Bed  Gulch.  Miss  Mary  grew 
^-fond  of  walking  in  the  sedate  and  proper  woods.  Perhaps 
she  believed,  with  Mrs.  Stidger,  that  the  balsamic  odors  of 
the  firs  "  did  her  chest  good,"  for  certainly  her  slight  cough 
was  less  frequent  and  her  step  was  firmer ;  perhaps  she  had 
learned  the  unending  lesson  which  the  patient  pines  are 
never  weary  of  repeating  to  heedful  or  listless  ears.  And 
so  one  day  she  planned  a  picnic  on  Buckeye  Hill,  and  took 
the  children  with  her.  Away  from  the  dusty  road,  the 
ytraggling  shanties,  the  yellow  ditches,  the  clamor  of  rest 
less  engines,  the  cheap  finery  of  shop-windows,  the  deeper 
glitter  of  paint  and  colored  glass,  and  the  thin  veneering 
which  barbarism  takes  upon  itself  in  such  localities,  what 
infinite  relief  was  theirs  !  The  last  heap  of  ragged  rock  and 
clay  passed,  the  last  unsightly  chasm  crossed,  —  how  the 
waiting  woods  opened  their  long  files  to  receive  them  ! 
How  the  children  —  perhaps  because  they  had  not  yet 
grown  quite  away  from  the  breast  of  the  bounteous  Mother 
—  threw  themselves  face  downward  on  her  brown  bosom 
with  uncouth  caresses,  filling  the  air  with  their  laughter  j 
and  how  Miss  Marv  herself  —  felinely  fastidious  and  in 
trenched  as  she  was  in  the  purity  of  spotless  skirts,  collar, 
and  culls  —  forgot  all,  and  ran  like  a  crested  quail  at  the 


THE   IDYL  OF  RED   GULCH  59 

head  of  her  brood,  until,  romping,  laughing,  and  panting} 
with  a  loosened  braid  of  brown  hair,  a  hat  hanging  by  a 
knotted  ribbon  from  her  throat,  she  came  suddenly  and 
violently,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  upon  the  luckless 
Sandy  ! 

The  explanations,  apologies,  and  not  overwise  conversa~ 
tion  that  ensued  need  not  be  indicated  here.  It  would  seein, 
however,  that  Miss  Mary  had  already  established  some 
acquaintance  with  this  ex-drunkard.  Enough  that  he  was 
soon  accepted  as  one  of  the  party  ;  that  the  children,  with 
that  quick  intelligence  which  Providence  gives  the  help 
less,  recognized  a  friend,  and  played  with  his  blond  beard 
and  long  silken  mustache,  and  took  other  liberties,  —  as  the 
helpless  are  apt  to  do.  And  when  he  had  built  a  fire 
against  a  tree,  and  had  shown  them  other  mysteries  of 
woodcraft,  their  admiration  knew  no  bounds.  At  the  close 
of  two  such  foolish,  idle,  happy  hours  he  found  himself 
lying  at  the  feet  of  the  schoolmistress,  gazing  dreamily  in 
her  face  as  she  sat  upon  the  sloping  hillside  weaving 
wreaths  of  laurel  and  syringa,  in  very  much  the  same  atti 
tude  as  he  had  lain  when  first  they  met.  Nor  was  the 
similitude  greatly  forced.  The  weakness  of  an  easy,  sensu 
ous  nature,  that  had  found  a  dreamy  exaltation  in  liquor, 
it  is  to  be  feared  was  now  finding  an  equal  intoxication  in 
love. 

I  think  that  Sandy  was  dimly  conscious  of  this  himself. 
I  know  that  he  longed  to  be  doing  something,  —  slaying  a 
grizzly,  scalping  a  savage,  or  sacrificing  himself  in  some  way 
for  the  sake  of  this  sallow-faced,  gray-eyed  schoolmistress. 
As  I  should  like  to  present  him  in  an  heroic  attitude,  I  stay 
my  hand  with  great  difficulty  at  this  moment,  being  only 
withheld  from  introducing  such  an  episode  by  a  strong  con 
viction  that  it  does  not  usually  occur  at  such  times.  And 
I  trust  that  my  fairest  reader,  who  remembers  that,  in  a 
real  .crisis,  it  is  always  some  uninteresting  stranger  oi 


60  THE   IDYL  OF  RED   GULCH 

unromantic  policeman,  and  not  Adolphus,  who  rescues,  will 
forgive  the  omission. 

So  they  sat  there  undisturbed,  —  the  woodpeckers  chat- 
tering  overhead  and  the  voices  of  the  children  coming 
pleasantly  from  the  hollow  below.  What  they  said  matters 
little.  What  they  thought  —  which  might  have  been 
interesting  —  did  not  transpire.  The  woodpeckers  only 
learned  how  Miss  Mary  was  an  orphan  ;  how  she  left  her 
uncle's  house  to  come  to  California  for  the  sake  of  health 
and  independence ;  how  Sandy  was  an  orphan  too  ;  how 
he  came  to  California  for  excitement ;  how  he  had  lived  a 
wild  life,  and  how  he  was  trying  to  reform  ;  and  other 
details,  which,  from  a  woodpecker's  view-point,  undoubtedly 
must  have  seemed  stupid  and  a  waste  of  time.  But  even 
in  such  trifles  was  the  afternoon  spent ;  and  when  the  chil 
dren  were  again  gathered,  and  Sandy,  with  a  delicacy  which 
the  schoolmistress  well  understood,  took  leave  of  them 
quietly  at  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement,  it  had  seemed 
the  shortest  day  of  her  weary  life. 

As  the  long,  dry  summer  withered  to  its  roots,  the  school 
term  of  Red  Gulch  —  to  use  a  local  euphuism  —  "  dried 
up  "  also.  In  another  day  Miss  Mary  would  be  free,  and 
for  a  season,  at  least,  Red  Gulch  would  know  her  no  more. 
She  was  seated  alone  in  the  schoolhouse,  her  cheek  resting 
on  her  hand,  her  eyes  half  closed  in  one  of  those  day 
dreams  in  which  Miss  Mary,  I  fear,  to  the  danger  of  school 
discipline,  was  lately  in  the  habit  of  indulging.  Her  lap 
was  full  of  mosses,  ferns,  and  other  woodland  memories. 
She  was  so  preoccupied  with  these  and  her  own  thoughts 
that  a  gentle  tapping  at  the  door  passed  unheard,  or  trans 
lated  itself  into  the  remembrance  of  far-off  woodpeckers. 
When  at  last  it  asserted  itself  mere  distinctly,  she  started 
up  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  opened  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  stood  a  woman,  the  self-assertion  and  audacity  of 
whose  dress  were  in  singular  contrast  to  her  timid,  irreso 
lute  bearing. 


THE   IDYL  OF  RED   GULCH  61 

Miss  Mary  recognized  at  a  glance  the  dubious  mother  of 
"her  anonymous  pupil.  Perhaps  she  was  disappointed,  per 
haps  she  was  only  fastidious  j  but  as  she  coldly  invited  her 
to  enter,  she  half  unconsciously  settled  her  white  cuffs  and 
collar,  and  gathered  closer  her  own  chaste  skirts.  It  was, 
perhaps,  for  this  reason  that  the  embarrassed  stranger,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  left  her  gorgeous  parasol  open  and 
sticking  in  the  dust  beside  the  door,  and  then  sat  down  at 
the  farther  end  of  a  long  bench.  Her  voice  was  husky  as 
she  began, — 

"  I  heerd  tell  that  you  were  goin7  down  to  the  Bay  to 
morrow,  and  I  could  n't  let  you  go  until  I  came  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  my  Tommy.'7 

Tommy,  Miss  Mary  said,  was  a  good  boy,  and  deserved 
more  than  the  poor  attention  she  could  give  him. 

"  Thank  you,  miss ;  thank  ye  ! "  cried  the  stranger, 
brightening  even  through  the  color  which  Red  Gulch 
knew  facetiously  as  her  "  war  paint/7  and  striving,  in  her 
embarrassment,  to  drag  the  long  bench  nearer  the  school 
mistress.  "  I  thank  you,  miss,  for  that ;  and  if  I  am  his 
mother,  there  ain't  a  sweeter,  dearer,  better  boy  lives  than 
him.  And  if  I  ain't  much  as  says  it,  thar  ain't  a  sweeter, 
dearer,  angeler  teacher  lives  than  he  's  got." 

Miss  Mary,  sitting  primly  behind  her  desk,  with  a  ruler 
over  her  shoulder,  opened  her  gray  eyes  widely  at  this,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  It  ain't  for  you  to  be  complimented  by  the  like  of  me, 
I  know,'7  she  went  on  hurriedly.  "  It  ain't  for  me  to  be 
comin'  here,  in  broad  day,  to  do  it,  either ;  but  I  come  to 
ask  a  favor, —  not  for  me,  miss,  —  not  for  me,  but  for  the 
darling  boy.77 

Encouraged  by  a  look  in  the  young  schoolmistress's  eye, 
and  putting  her  lilac-gloved  hands  together,  the  fingers 
downward,  between  her  knees,  she  went  on,  in  a  low 
voice :  — 


62  THE    IDYL   OF   RED    GULCH 

"  You  see,  miss,  there 's  no  one  the  boy  has  any  claim  on 
but  me,  and  I  ain't  the  proper  person  to  bring  him  up.  I 
thought  some,  last  year,  of  sending  him  away  to  Frisco  to 
school,  but  when  they  talked  of  bringing  a  schoolma'am 
here,  I  waited  till  I  saw  you,  and  then  I  knew  it  was  all 
right,  and  I  could  keep  my  boy  a  little  longer.  And,  oh  ! 
miss,  he  loves  you  so  much  ;  and  if  you  could  hear  him 
talk  about  you  in  his  pretty  way,  and  if  he  could  ask  you 
what  I  ask  you  now,  you  could  n't  refuse  him. 

"  It  is  natural,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  strangely  between  pride  and  humility,  —  "  it 's 
natural  that  he  should  take  to  you,  miss,  for  his  father, 
when  I  first  knew  him,  was  a  gentleman,  —  and  the  \)oy 
must  forget  me,  sooner  or  later,  —  and  so  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
cry  about  that.  For  I  come  to  ask  you  to  take  my  Tommy, 

—  God  bless  him  for  the  bestest,  sweetest  boy  that  lives,  — 
to  —  to  —  take  him  with  you." 

She  had  risen  and  caught  the  young  girl's  hand  in  her 
own,  and  had  fallen  on  her  knees  beside  her. 

"  I  've  money  plenty,  and  it 's  all  yours  and  his.  Put 
him  in  some  good  school,  where  you  can  go  and  see  him, 
and  help  him  to  —  to  —  to  forget  his  mother.  Do  with 
him  what  you  like.  The  worst  you  can  do  will  be  kind 
ness  to  what  he  will  learn  with  me.  Only  take  him  out 
of  this  wicked  life,  this  cruel  place,  this  home  of  shame 
and  sorrow.  You  will !  I  know  you  will,  —  won't  you  ? 
You  will,  —  you  must  not,  you  cannot  say  no  !  You  will 
make  him  as  pure,  as  gentle  as  yourself  ;  and  when  he  has 
grown  up,  you  will  tell  him  his  father's  name,  —  the  name 
that  has  n't  passed  my  lips  for  years,  —  the  name  of  Alex 
ander  Morton,  whom  they  call  here  Sandy  !  Miss  Mary ! 

—  do  not  take  your  hand  away  !     Miss  Mary,  speak  to  me  ! 
You  will   take  my  boy  ?     Do  not   put  your  face   from  me* 
I  know  it  ought  not  to  look  on  such  as  me.     Miss  Maryf 
— -  my  G^2 .  be  merciful !  —  she  is  leaving  me  I " 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH  63 

Miss  Mary  had  risen,  and,  in  the  gathering  twilight,  had 
felt  her  way  to  the  open  window.  She  stood  there,  leaning 
against  the  casement,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  last  rosy  tints 
that  were  fading  from  the  western  sky.  There  was  still 
some  of  its  light  on  her  pure  young  forehead,  on  her  white 
collar,  on  her  clasped  white  hands,  but  all  fading  slowly 
away.  The  suppliant  had  dragged  herself,  still  on  her 
knees,  beside  her. 

"  I  know  it  takes  time  to  consider.  I  will  wait  here  all 
night ;  but  I  cannot  go  until  you  speak.  Do  not  deny  me 
now.  You  will !  —  I  see  it  in  your  sweet  face,  —  such  a  face 
as  I  have  seen  in  my  dreams.  I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  Miss 
Mary  !  —  you  will  take  my  boy  !  " 

The  last  red  beam  crept  higher,  suffused  Miss  Mary's 
eyes  with  something  of  its  glory,  flickered,  and  faded,  and 
went  out.  The  sun  had  set  on  Red  Gulch.  In  the  twi 
light  and  silence  Miss  Mary's  voice  sounded  pleasantly. 

"  I  will  take  the  boy.      Send  him  to  me  to-night." 

The  happy  mother  raised  the  hem  of  Miss  Mary's  skirts 

her  lips.  She  would  have  buried  her  hot  face  in  its 
virgin  folds,  but  she  dared  not.  She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Does  —  this  man  —  know  of  your  intention  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Mary  suddenly. 

"  No,  nor  cares.  He  has  never  even  seen  the  child  to 
know  it." 

"  Go  to  him  at  once  —  to-night  —  now  !  Tell  him  what 
you  have  done.  Tell  him  I  have  taken  his  child,  and  tell 
him — he  must  never  see  —  see  —  the  child  again.  Wherever 
it  may  be,  he  must  not  come ;  wherever  I  may  take  it,  he 
must  not  follow  !  There,  go  now,  please,  —  I  'm  weary, 
and  —  have  much  yet  to  do  !  " 

They  walked  together  to  the  door.  On  the  threshold  the 
Woman  turned. 

"  Good-night ! " 

She  would  have  fallen  at  Miss  Mary's  feet.     But  at  the 


64  THE   IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH 

same  moment  the  young  girl  reached  out  her  arms,  caught 
the  sinful  woman  to  her  own  pure  breast  for  one  brief 
moment,  and  then  closed  and  locked  the  door. 

It  was  with  a  sudden  sense  of  great  responsibility  that 
Profane  Bill  took  the  reins  of  the  Slumgullion  stage  the 
next  morning,  for  the  schoolmistress  was  one  of  his  pas 
sengers.  As  he  entered  the  highroad,  in  obedience  to  a 
pleasant  voice  from  the  "  inside,"  he  suddenly  reined  up  his 
horses  and  respectfully  waited,  as  Tommy  hopped  out  at 
the  command  of  Miss  Mary. 

"  Not  that  bush,  Tommy,  —  the  next." 

Tommy  whipped  out  his  new  pocket-knife,  and  cutting 
a  branch  from  a  tall  azalea-bush,  returned  with  it  to  Miss 
Mary. 

"  All  right  now  ?  " 

"All  right!" 

And  the  stage-door  closed  on  the  Idyl  of  Red  Gulch* 


BROWN  OF  CALAVERAS 

A  SUBDUED  tone  of  conversation,  and  the  absence  of 
cigar-smoke  and  boot-heels  at  the  windows  of  the  Wingdam 
stagecoach,  made  it  evident  that  one  of  the  inside  passengers 
was  a  woman.  A  disposition  on  the  part  of  loungers  at  the 
stations  to  congregate  before  the  window,  and  some  concern 
in  regard  to  the  appearance  of  coats,  hats,  and  collars, 
further  indicated  that  she  was  lovely.  All  of  which  Mr. 
Jack  Hamlin,  on  the  box-seat,  noted  with  the  smile  of 
cynical  philosophy.  Not  that  he  depreciated  the  sex,  but 
that  he  recognized  therein  a  deceitful  element,  the  pursuit 
of  which  sometimes  drew  mankind  away  from  the  equally 
uncertain  blandishments  of  poker,  —  of  which  it  may  be 
remarked  that  Mr.  Hamlin  was  a  professional  exponent. 

So  that,  when  he  placed  his  narrow  boot  on  the  wheel 
and  leaped  down,  he  did  not  even  glance  at  the  window 
from  which  a  green  veil  was  fluttering,  but  lounged  up  and 
down  with  that  listless  and  grave  indifference  of  his  class, 
which  was,  perhaps,  the  next  thing  to  good-breeding.  With 
his  closely  buttoned  figure  and  self-contained  air  he  was  a 
marked  contrast  to  the  other  passengers,  with  their  feverish 
restlessness  and  boisterous  emotion ;  and  even  Bill  Masters, 
a  graduate  of  Harvard,  with  his  slovenly  dress,  his  over 
flowing  vitality,  his  intense  appreciation  of  lawlessness  and 
barbarism,  and  his  mouth  filled  with  crackers  and  cheese, 
I  fear  cut  but  an  unromantic  figure  beside  this  lonely  calcu 
lator  of  chances,  with  his  pale  Greek  face  and  Homeric 
gravity. 

The   driver   called    "  All   aboard ! "    and   Mr.    Hamlin 


66  BROWN  OF  CALAVERAS 

returned  to  the  coach.  His  foot  was  upon  the  wheel,  and 
his  face  raised  to  the  level  of  the  open  window,  when,  at 
the  same  moment,  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  finest 
eyes  in  the  world  suddenly  met  his.  He  quietly  dropped 
down  again,  addressed  a  few  words  to  one  of  the  inside 
passengers,  effected  an  exchange  of  seats,  and  as  quietly 
took  his  place  inside.  Mr.  Hamlin  never  allowed  hia 
philosophy  to  interfere  with  decisive  and  prompt  action. 

I  fear  that  this  irruption  of  Jack  cast  some  restraint 
upon  the  other  passengers,  particularly  those  who  were 
making  themselves  most  agreeable  to  the  lady.  One  of 
them  leaned  forward,  and  apparently  conveyed  to  her 
information  regarding  Mr.  Hamlin's  profession  in  a  single 
epithet.  Whether  Mr.  Hamlin  heard  it,  or  whether  he 
recognized  in  the  informant  a  distinguished  jurist,  from 
whom,  but  a  few  evenings  before,  he  had  won  several 
thousand  dollars,  I  cannot  say.  His  colorless  face  betrayed 
no  sign ;  his  black  eyes,  quietly  observant,  glanced  indiffer 
ently  past  the  legal  gentleman,  aud  rested  on  the  much 
more  pleasing  features  of  his  neighbor.  An  Indian  stoicism 
—  said  to  be  an  inheritance  from  his  maternal  ancestor  — 
stood  him  in  good  service,  until  the  rolling  wheels  rattled 
upon  the  river  gravel  at  Scott's  Ferry,  and  the  stage  drew 
up  at  the  International  Hotel  for  dinner.  The  legal  gentle 
man  and  a  member  of  Congress  leaped  out,  and  stood  ready 
to  assist  the  descending  goddess,  while  Colonel  Starbottle 
of  Siskiyou  took  charge  of  her  parasol  and  shawl.  In  this 
multiplicity  of  attention  there  was  a  momentary  confusion 
and  delay.  Jack  Hamlin  quietly  opened  the  opposite  door 
of  the  coach,  took  the  lady's  hand,  with  that  decision  and 
positiveness  which  a  hesitating  and  undecided  sex  know  how 
to  admire,  and  in  an  instant  had  dexterously  and  gracefully 
swung  her  to  the  ground  and  again  lifted  her  to  the  plat 
form.  An  audible  chuckle  on  the  box,  I  fear,  came  from 
that  other  cynic,  Yuba  Bill,  the  driver.  "  Look  keerfully 


BROWN  OF   CALAVERAS  67 

arter  that  baggage,  Kernel,"  said  the  expressman,  with 
affected  concern,  as  he  looked  after  Colonel  Starbottle, 
gloomily  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the  triumphant  procession 
to  the  waiting-room. 

Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  stay  for  dinner.  His  horse  was 
already  saddled  and  awaiting  him.  He  dashed  over  the 
ford,  up  the  gravelly  hill,  and  out  into  the  dusty  perspective 
of  the  Wingdam  road,  like  one  leaving  an  unpleasant  fancy 
behind  him.  The  inmates  of  dusty  cabins  by  the  roadside 
shaded  their  eyes  with  their  hands  and  looked  after  him, 
recognizing  the  man  by  his  horse,  and  speculating  what 
"  was  up  with  Comanche  Jack."  Yet  much  of  this  interest 
centred  in  the  horse,  in  a  community  where  the  time  rmde 
by  "  French  Pete's  "  mare,  in  his  run  from  the  Sheriff  of 
Calaveras,  eclipsed  all  concern  in  the  ultimate  fate  of  that 
worthy. 

The  sweating  flanks  of  his  gray  at  length  recalled  him  to 
himself.  He  checked  his  speed,  and  turning  into  u  byroad, 
sometimes  used  as  a  cut-off,  trotted  leisurely  along,  the 
reins  hanging  listlessly  from  his  fingers.  As  hs  rode  on, 
the  character  of  the  landscape  changed  ^nd  b^Cum^  more 
pastoral.  Openings  in  groves  of  pine  and  sycamore  disclosed 
some  rude  attempts  at  cultivation,  —  a  flowering  vine  trailed 
over  the  porch  of  one  cabin,  and  a  woman  rocke^  her  cradled 
babe  under  the  roses  of  another.  A  little  farthei  on,  Mr. 
Hamlin  came  upon  some  bare-legged  children  wading  in  the 
willowy  creek,  and  so  wrought  upon  them  with  a  badinage 
peculiar  to  himself,  that  they  were  emboldened  to  climb  up 
his  horse's  legs  and  over  his  saddle,  until  he  was  fain  to 
develop  an  exaggerated  ferocity  of  demeanor,  and  to  es 
cape,  leaving  behind  some  kisses  and  coin.  And  then, 
advancing  deeper  into  the  woods,  where  all  signs  of  habita 
tion  failed,  he  began  to  sing,  uplifting  a  tenor  so  singularly 
sweet,  and  shaded  by  a  pathos  so  subdued  and  tender,  that 
I  wot  the  robins  and  linnets  stopped  to  listen.  Mr.  Han* 


68  BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS 

lin's  voice  was  not  cultivated ;  the  subject  of  his  song  was 
some  sentimental  lunacy,  borrowed  from  the  negro  minstrels  ; 
but  there  thrilled  through  all  some  occult  quality  of  tone 
and  expression  that  was  unspeakably  touching.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  wonderful  sight  to  see  this  sentimental  blackleg,  with 
a  pack  of  cards  in  his  pocket  and  a  revolver  at  his  back, 
sending  his  voice  before  him  through  the  dim  woods  with  a 
plaint  about  his  "  Nelly's  grave,"  in  a  way  that  overflowed 
the  eyes  of  the  listener.  A  sparrow-hawk,  fresh  from  his 
sixth  victim,  possibly  recognizing  in  Mr.  Hamlin  a  kindred 
spirit,  stared  at  him  in  surprise,  and  was  fain  to  confess  the 
superiority  of  man.  With  a  superior  predatory  capacity  he 
could  n't  sing. 

But  Mr.  Hamlin  presently  found  himself  again  on  the 
highroad  and  at  his  former  pace.  Ditches  and  banks  of 
gravel,  denuded  hillsides,  stumps,  and  decayed  trunks  of 
trees,  took  the  place  of  woodland  and  ravine,  and  indicated 
his  approach  to  civilization.  Then  a  church-steeple  came 
in  sight,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  reached  home.  In  a  few 
moments  he  was  clattering  down  the  single  narrow  street 
that  lost  itself  in  a  chaotic  ruin  of  races,  ditches,  and  tail 
ings  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  dismounted  before  the 
gilded  windows  of  the  Magnolia  saloon.  Passing  through 
the  long  bar-room,  he  pushed  open  a  green-baize  door, 
entered  a  dark  passage,  opened  another  door  with  a  pass 
key,  and  found  himself  in  a  dimly  lighted  room,  whose 
furniture,  though  elegant  and  costly  for  the  locality,  showed 
signs  of  abuse.  The  inlaid  centre-table  was  overlaid  with 
stained  disks  that  were  not  contemplated  in  the  original 
design,  the  embroidered  armchairs  were  discolored,  and 
the  green  velvet  lounge,  on  which  Mr.  Hamlin  threw  him 
self,  was  soiled  at  the  foot  with  the  red  soil  of  Wingdam. 

Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  sing  in  his  cage.  He  lay  still,  look 
ing  at  a  highly  colored  painting  above  him,  representing  a 
young  creature  of  opulent  charms.  It  occurred  to  him 


BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS  69 

then,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had  never  seen  exactly  that 
kind  of  a  woman,  and  that,  if  he  should,  he  would  not, 
probably,  fall  in  love  with  her.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking 
of  another  style  of  beauty.  But  just  then  some  one  knocked 
at  the  door.  Without  rising,  he  pulled  a  cord  that  appar 
ently  shot  back  a  bolt,  for  the  door  swung  open,  and  a  man 
entered. 

The  new-comer  was  broad-shouldered  and  robust,  —  a 
vigor  not  borne  out  in  the  face,  which,  though  handsome, 
was  singularly  weak  and  disfigured  by  dissipation.  He 
appeared  to  be,  also,  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  for  he 
started  on  seeing  Mr.  Hamlin,  and  said,  "  I  thought  Kate 
was  here  ; "  stammered,  and  seemed  confused  and  embar 
rassed. 

Mr.  Hamlin  smiled  the  smile  which  he  had  before  worn 
on  the  Wingdam  coach,  and  sat  up,  quite  refreshed  and  ready 
for  business. 

"  You  did  n't  come  up  on  the  stage,"  continued  the  new 
comer.  "  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Hamlin  ;  "  I  left  it  at  Scott's  Ferry.  It 
is  n't  due  for  half  an  hour  yet.  But  how 's  luck,  Brown  ?  " 

"  D— -d  bad,"  said  Brown,  his  face  suddenly  assuming 
an  expression  of  weak  despair.  "  I  'm  cleaned  out  again, 
Jack,"  he  continued,  in  a  whining  tone,  that  formed  a 
pitiable  contrast  to  his  bulky  figure  ;  "  can't  you  help  me 
with  a  hundred  till  to-morrow's  clean-up  ?  You  see  I  've 
got  to  send  money  home  to  the  old  woman,  and  —  you  've 
won  twenty  times  that  amount  from  me." 

The  conclusion  was,  perhaps,  not  entirely  logical,  but 
Jack  overlooked  it,  and  handed  the  sum  to  his  visitor. 
"  The  old-woman  business  is  about  played  out,  Brown,"  h< 
added,  by  way  of  commentary  ;  "  why  don't  you  say  you 
want  to  buck  ag'in'  faro  ?  You  know  you  ain't  married  ! ; 

"  Fact,  sir,"  said  Brown,  with  a  sudden  gravity,  as  if  thi 
mere  contact  of  the  gold  with  the  palm  of  the  hand  ha<7 


70  BROWN   OF   CALAVERAS 

imparted  some  dignity  to  his  frame.  "  I  've  got  a  wife  —  at 
d — d  good  one,  too,  if  I  do  say  it  —  in  the  States.  It  *s 
three  years  since  I  've  seen  her,  and  a  year  since  I  've  writ 
to  her.  When  things  is  ahout  straight,  and  we  get  down 
to  the  lead,  I  'm  going  to  send  for  her." 

"  And  Kate  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Hanilin,  with  his  previous 
smile. 

Mr.  Brown  of  Calaveras  essayed  an  archness  of  glance  to 
cover  his  confusion,  which  his  weak  face  and  whiskey-mud-- 
died  intellect  but  poorly  carried  out,  and  said, — 

"  D — n  it,  Jack,  a  man  must  have  a  little  liberty,  you 
know.  But  come,  what  do  you  say  to  a  little  game  ?  Give 
us  a  show  to  double  this  hundred." 

Jack  Hamlin  looked  curiously  at  his  fatuous  friend. 
Perhaps  he  knew  that  the  man  was  predestined  to  lose  the 
money,  and  preferred  that  it  should  flow  back  into  his  own 
coffers  rather  than  any  other.  He  nodded  his  head,  and 
drew  his  chair  toward  the  table.  At  the  same  moment 
there  came  a  rap  upon  the  door. 

"  It 's  Kate,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

Mr.  Hamlin  shot  back  the  bolt  and  the  door  opened. 
But,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  staggered  to  his  feet 
utterly  unnerved  and  abashed,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  the  hot  blood  crimsoned  his  colorless  cheeks  to  his 
forehead.  For  before  him  stood  the  lady  he  had  lifted 
from  the  Wingdam  coach,  whom  Brown,  dropping  his  cards 
with  a  hysterical  laugh,  greeted  as,  — 

"  My  old  woman,  by  thunder  !  " 

They  say  that  Mrs.  Brown  burst  into  tears  and  re 
proaches  of  her  husband.  I  saw  her  in  1857  at  Marysville, 
and  disbelieve  the  story.  And  the  "  Wingdam  Chronicle  " 
of  the  next  week,  under  the  head  of  "  Touching  Reunion," 
said :  "  One  of  those  beautiful  and  touching  incidents, 
peculiar  to  California  life,  occurred  last  week  in  our  city, 
the  wife  of  one  of  Wingdam's  eminent  pioneers,  tired  of 


BROWN  OF  CALAVEKAS  71 

the  effete  civilization  of  the  East  and  its  inhospitable 
climate,  resolved  to  join  her  nohle  husband  upon  these 
golden  shores.  Without  informing  him  of  her  intention, 
she  undertook  the  long  journey,  and  arrived  last  week. 
The  joy  of  the  husband  may  be  easier  imagined  than  de 
scribed.  The  meeting  is  said  to  have  been  indescribably 
affecting.  We  trust  her  example  may  be  followed." 

Whether  owing  to  Mrs.  Brown's  influence,  or  to  some 
more  successful  speculations,  Mr.  Brown's  financial  fortune 
from  that  day  steadily  improved.  He  bought  out  his  part, 
ners  in  the  "  Nip  and  Tuck  "  lead,  with  money  which  was 
said  to  have  been  won  at  poker  a  week  or  two  after  his 
wife's  arrival,  but  which  rumor,  adopting  Mrs.  Brown's 
theory  that  Brown  had  forsworn  the  gaming-table,  declared 
to  have  been  furnished  by  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin.  He  built 
and  furnished  the  Wingdam  House,  which  pretty  Mrs. 
Brown's  great  popularity  kept  overflowing  with  guests.  He 
was  elected  to  the  Assembly,  and  gave  largess  to  churches. 
A  street  in  Wingdam  was  named  in  his  honor. 

Yet  it  was  noted  that  in  proportion  as  he  waxed  wealthy 
and  fortunate,  he  grew  pale,  thin,  and  anxious.  As  his 
wife's  popularity  increased,  he  became  fretful  and  impatient. 
The  most  uxorious  of  husbands,  he  was  absurdly  jealous. 
If  he  did  not  interfere  with  his  wife's  social  liberty,  it  was 
because  it  was  maliciously  whispered  that  his  first  and  only 
attempt  was  met  by  an  outburst  from  Mrs.  Brown  that  terri 
fied  him  into  silence.  Much  of  this  kind  of  gossip  came 
xrom  those  of  her  own  sex  whom  she  had  supplanted  in  the 
chivalrous  attentions  of  Wingdam,  which,  like  most  popu 
lar  chivalry,  was  devoted  to  an  admiration  of  power,  whether 
of  masculine  force  or  feminine  beauty.  It  should  be  re 
membered,  too,  in  her  extenuation,  that,  since  her  arrival, 
she  had  been  the  unconscious  priestess  of  a  mythological 
worship,  perhaps  not  more  ennobling  to  her  womanhood 


72  BROWN  OF  CA.LAVERA-S 

than  that  which  distinguished  an  older  Greek  democracy. 
I  think  that  Brown  was  dimly  conscious  of  this.  But  his 
only  confidant  was  Jack  Hamlin,  whose  infelix  reputation 
Naturally  precluded  any  open  intimacy  with  the  family,  and 
whose  visits  were  infrequent. 

It  was  midsummer  and  a  moonlit  night,  and  Mrs.  Brown, 
very  rosy,  large-eyed,  and  pretty,  sat  upon  the  piazza,  en 
joying  the  fresh  incense  of  the  mountain  breeze,  and,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  another  incense  which  was  not  so  fresh  nor 
quite  as  innocent.  Beside  her  sat  Colonel  Starbottle  and 
Judge  Boompointer,  and  a  later  addition  to  her  court  in  the 
shape  of  a  foreign  tourist.  She  was  in  good  spirits. 

"  What  do  you  see  down  the  road  ?  "  inquired  the  gallant 
Colonel,  who  had  been  conscious,  for  the  last  few  minutes, 
that  Mrs.  Brown's  attention  was  diverted. 

"  Dust,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a  sigh.  "  Only  Sister 
Anne's  'flock  of  sheep.''1 

The  Colonel,  whose  literary  recollections  did  not  extend 
farther  back  than  last  week's  paper,  took  a  more  practical 
view.  "  It  ain't  sheep,"  he  continued  ;  "  it  9s  a  horseman. 
Judge,  ain't  that  Jack  Hamlin's  gray  ?  " 

But  the  Judge  did  n't  know ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Brown  sug 
gested  the  air  was  growing  too  cold  for  further  investiga 
tions,  they  retired  to  the  parlor. 

Mr.  Brown  was  in  the  stable,  where  he  generally  retired 
after  dinner.  Perhaps  it  was  to  show  his  contempt  for  his 
wife's  companions  ;  perhaps,  like  other  weak  natures,  he 
found  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  absolute  power  over  infe 
rior  animals.  He  had  a  certain  gratification  in  the  training 
of  a  chestnut  mare,  whom  he  could  beat  or  caress  as  pleased 
him,  which  he  could  n't  do  with  Mrs.  Brown.  It  was  here 
that  he  recognized  a  certain  gray  horse  which  had  just  come 
in,  and,  looking  a  little  farther  on,  found  his  rider.  Brown's 
greeting  wa*  cordial  and  hearty  ;  Mr.  Hamlin's  somewhat 
restr?*o«*d.  But,  at  Brown's  urgent  request,  he  followed 


BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS  73 

Jiim  up  the  back  stairs  to  a  narrow  corridor,  and  thence  to 
a  small  room  looking  out  upon  the  stable-yard.  It  was 
plainly  furnished  with  a  bed,  a  table,  a  few  chairs,  and  a 
rack  for  guns  and  whips. 

"  This  yer  's  my  home,  Jack,"  said  Brown  with  a  sigh, 
as  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  and  motioned  his  com 
panion  to  a  chair.  "  Her  room  's  t'  other  end  of  the  hall. 
It's  more  'n  six  months  since  we  've  lived  together,  or  met, 
except  at  meals.  It 's  mighty  rough  papers  on  the  head  of 
the  house,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  said  with  a  forced  laugh.  "  But 
I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jack,  d — d  glad,"  and  he  reached 
from  the  bed,  and  again  shook  the  unresponsive  hand  of 
Jack  Hamlin. 

"  I  brought  ye  up  here,  for  I  did  n't  want  to  talk  in  the 
stable ;  though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  it 's  all  round  town. 
Don't  strike  a  light.  We  can  talk  here  in  the  moonshine. 
Put  up  your  feet  on  that  winder  and  sit  here  beside  me. 
Thar  's  whiskey  in  that  jug." 

Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  information. 
Brown  of  Calaveras  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  con 
tinued,  — 

"  If  I  did  n't  love  the  woman,  Jack,  I  would  n't  mind. 
But  it 's  loving  her,  and  seeing  her  day  arter  day  goin'  on 
at  this  rate,  and  no  one  to  put  down  the  brake  ;  that 's  what 
gits  me!  But  I  'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Jack,  d — d  glad." 

In  the  darkness  he  groped  about  until  he  had  found  and 
wrung  his  companion's  hand  again.  He  would  have  detained 
it,  but  Jack  slipped  it  into  the  buttoned  breast  of  his  coat, 
and  asked  listlessly,  "  How  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  " 

11  Ever  since  she  came  here  ;  ever  since  the  day  she  walked 
into  the  Magnolia.  I  was  a  fool  then  ;  Jack,  I  'm  a  fool 
now ;  but  I  did  n't  know  how  much  I  loved  her  till  then. 
And  she  has  n't  been  the  same  woman  since. 

"But  that  ain't  all,  Jack ;  and  it's  what  I  wanted  to  see 
you  about,  and  I  'm  glad  you  've  come.  It  ain't  that  she 


74  BROWN  OF   CALAVERAS 

does  n't  love  me  any  more ;  it  ain't  that  she  fools  with  every 
chap  that  conies  along ;  for  perhaps  I  staked  her  love  and 
lost  it,  as  I  did  everything  else  at  the  Magnolia ;  and 
perhaps  foolin'  is  nateral  to  some  women,  and  thar  ain't  no 
great  harm  done,  'cept  to  the  fools.  But,  Jack,  I  think,  — 
I  think  she  loves  somebody  else.  Don't  move,  Jack  !  don't 
move  ;  if  your  pistol  hurts  ye,  take  it  off. 

"  It 's  been  more  'n  six  months  now  that  she  's  seemed 
unhappy  and  lonesome,  and  kinder  nervous  and  scared-like. 
And  sometimes  I  've  ketched  her  lookin'  at  me  sort  of  timid 
and  pitying.  And  she  writes  to  somebody.  And  for  the 
last  week  she  's  been  gathering  her  own  things,  —  trinkets, 
and  furbelows,  and  jew'lry,  —  and,  Jack,  I  think  she  's 
goin'  off.  I  could  stand  all  but  that.  To  have  her  steal 
away  like  a  thief  !  "  He  put  his  face  downward  to  the 
pillow,  and  for  a  few  moments  there  was  no  sound  but  the 
ticking  of  a  clock  on  the  mantel.  Mr.  Hamlin  lit  a  cigar, 
and  moved  to  the  open  window.  The  moon  no  longer 
shone  into  the  room,  and  the  bed  and  its  occupant  were  in 
shadow.  "  What  shall  I  do,  Jack  ?  "  said  the  voice  from 
the  darkness. 

The  answer  came  promptly  and  clearly  from  the  window- 
side,  "  Spot  the  man,  and  kill  him  on  sight." 

"But,  Jack"  — 

"  He  's  took  the  risk  !  " 

"  But  will  that  bring  her  back  ?  " 

Jack  did  not  reply,  but  moved  from  the  window  towards 
the  door. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Jack  ;  light  the  candle  and  sit  by  the 
table.  It 's  a  comfort  to  see  ye,  if  nothin'  else." 

Jack  hesitated  and  then  complied.  He  drew  a  pack  of 
cards  from  his  pocket  and  shuffled  them,  glancing  at  the 
bed.  But  Brown's  face  was  turned  to  the  wall.  When 
Mr.  Hamlin  had  shuffled  the  cards,  he  cut  them,  and  dealt 
one  card  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  towards  the  bed, 


BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS  75 

and  another  on  his  side  of  the  table  for  himself.  The  first 
was  a  deuce  ;  his  own  card  a  king.  He  then  shuffled  and 
cut  again.  This  time  "  dummy  "  had  a  queen  and  himself 
a  four-spot.  Jack  brightened  up  for  the  third  deal.  It 
brought  his  adversary  a  deuce  and  himself  a  king  again. 
"  Two  out  of  three,"  said  Jack  audibly. 

"  What  'a  that,  Jack  ?  "  said  Brown. 

"  Nothing." 

Then  Jack  tried  his  hand  with  dice  ;  but  he  always  threw 
sixes  and  his  imaginary  opponent  aces.  The  force  of  habit 
is  sometimes  confusing. 

Meanwhile  some  magnetic  influence  in  Mr.  Hamlin's 
presence,  or  the  anodyne  of  liquor,  or  both,  brought  sur 
cease  of  sorrow,  and  Brown  slept.  Mr.  Hamlin  moved  his 
chair  to  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the  town  of  Wing- 
dam,  now  sleeping  peacefully,  its  harsh  outlines  softened 
and  subdued,  its  glaring  colors  mellowed  and  sobered  in 
the  moonlight  that  flowed  over  all.  In  the  hush  he  could 
hear  the  gurgling  of  water  in  the  ditches  and  the  sighing 
of  the  pines  beyond  the  hill.  Then  he  looked  up  at  the 
firmament,  and  as  he  did  so  a  star  shot  across  the  twin 
kling  field.  Presently  another,  and  then  another.  The 
phenomenon  suggested  to  Mr.  Hamlin  a  fresh  augury.  If 
in  another  fifteen  minutes  another  star  should  fall  —  He 
sat  there,  watch  in  hand,  for  twice  that  time,  but  the  phe 
nomenon  was  not  repeated. 

The  clock  struck  two,  and  Brown  still  slept.  Mr.  Hamlin 
approached  the  table  and  took  from  his  pocket  a  letter, 
which  he  read  by  the  flickering  candlelight.  It  contained 
only  a  single  line,  written  in  pencil,  in  a  woman's  hand,  — 

"  Be  at  the  corral  with  the  buggy  at  three." 

The  sleeper  moved  uneasily  and  then  awoke.  "  Are 
YOU  there,  Jack  ?  " 

"Yes." 

<e  Don't  go  yet.      I  dreamed  just  now,  Jack,  — dreamed 


76  BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS 

of  old  times.  I  thought  that  Sue  and  me  was  being  mar. 
ried  agin,  and  that  the  parson,  Jack,  was  —  who  do  you 
think?  — you  !" 

The  gambler  laughed,  and  seated  himself  on  the  bed,  the 
paper  still  in  his  hand. 

"  It 's  a  good  sign,  ain't  it  ?  "  queried  Brown. 

"  I  reckon !  Say,  old  man,  had  n't  you  better  get 
up?" 

The  "  old  man,"  thus  affectionately  appealed  to,  rose, 
with  the  assistance  of  Hamlin's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Smoke  ?  " 

Brown  mechanically  took  the  proffered  cigar. 

"  Light  ?  " 

Jack  had  twisted  the  letter  into  a  spiral,  lit  it,  and  held 
it  for  his  companion.  He  continued  to  hold  it  until  it  was 
consumed,  and  dropped  the  fragment  —  a  fiery  star  —  from 
the  open  window.  He  watched  it  as  it  fell,  and  then  re 
turned  to  his  friend. 

"  Old  man,"  he  said,  placing  nis  hands  upon  Brown's 
shoulders,  "  in  ten  minutes  I  '11  b%  on  the  road,  and  gone 
like  that  spark.  We  won't  see  each  other  agin  ;  but,  before 
I  go,  take  a  fool's  advice  :  sell  out  all  you  've  got,  take  your 
wife  with  you,  and  quit  the  country.  It  ain't  no  place  for 
you  nor  her.  Tell  her  she  must  go  ;  make  her  go  if  she 
won't.  Don't  whine  because  you  can't  be  a  saint  and  she 
ain't  an  angel.  Be  a  man,  and  treat  her  like  a  woman. 
Don't  be  a  d — d  fool.  Good-by." 

He  tore  himself  from  Brown's  grasp  and  leaped  down 
the  stairs  like  a  deer.  At  the  stable-door  he  collared  the 
half-sleeping  hostler,  and  backed  him  against  the  wall. 
*  Saddle  my  horse  in  two  minutes,  or  I  '11 "  —  The  ellip 
sis  was  frightfully  suggestive. 

"  The  missis  said  you  was  to  have  the  buggy,"  stammered 
ihe  man. 

n  the  buggy!" 


BROWN   OF  CALAVERAS  77 

The  horse  was  saddled  as  fast  as  the  nervous  hands  of 
the  astounded  hostler  could  manipulate  "buckle  and  strap. 

"  Is  anything  up,  Mr.  Hamlin  ?  "  said  the  man,  who, 
like  all  his  class,  admired  the  elan  of  his  fiery  patron,  and 
was  really  concerned  in  his  welfare. 

«  Stand  aside  !  " 

The  man  fell  back.  With  an  oath,  a  bound,  and  clatter, 
Jack  was  into  the  road.  In  another  moment,  to  the  man's 
half-awakened  eyes,  he  was  but  a  moving  cloud  of  dust  in 
the  distance,  towards  which  a  star  just  loosed  from  its 
brethren  was  trailing  a  stream  of  fire. 

But  early  that  morning  the  dwellers  by  the  Wingdanj 
turnpike,  miles  aways,  heard  a  voice,  pure  as  a  sky-lark's, 
singing  afield.  They  who  were  asleep  turned  over  on  theii 
rude  couches  to  dream  of  youth,  and  love,  and  olden  days. 
Hard-faced  men  and  anxious  gold-seekers,  already  at  work, 
ceased  their  labors  and  leaned  upon  their  picks  to  listen  to 
a  romantic  vagabond  ambling  away  against  the  rosy  sun 
rise. 


CONDENSED  NOVELS 


MUCK-A-MUCK 

A  MODERN  INDIAN  NOVEL 
AFTER    COOPER 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  toward  the  close  of  a  bright  October  day.  The 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  reflected  from  one  of  those 
sylvan  lakes  peculiar  to  the  Sierras  of  California.  On  the 
right  the  curling  smoke  of  an  Indian  village  rose  between 
the  columns  of  the  lofty  pines,  while  to  the  left  the  log 
cottage  of  Judge  Tompkins,  embowered  in  buckeyes,  com 
pleted  the  enchanting  picture. 

Although  the  exterior  of  the  cottage  was  humble  and 
unpretentious,  and  in  keeping  with  the  wildness  of  the 
landscape,  its  interior  gave  evidence  of  the  cultivation  and 
iefineraent  of  its  inmates.  An  aquarium,  containing  gold 
fishes,  stood  on  a  marble  centre-table  at  one  end  of  the 
apartment,  while  a  magnificent  grand  piano  occupied  the 
other.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  yielding  tapestry 
carpet,  and  the  walls  were  adorned  with  paintings  from  the 
•pencils  of  Van  Dyke,  Rubens,  Tintoretto,  Michael  Angelo, 
and  the  productions  of  the  more  modern  Turner,  Kensett, 
Church,  and  Bierstadt.  Although  Judge  Tompkins  had 
those*  the  frontiers  of  civilization  as  his  home,  it  was 


MUCK-A-MUCK  79 

impossible  for  him  to  entirely  forego  the  habits  and  tastes 
of  his  former  life.  He  was  seated  in  a  luxurious  armchair, 
writing  at  a  mahogany  escritoire,  while  his  daughter,  a 
lovely  young  girl  of  seventeen  summers,  plied  her  crotchet- 
needle  on  an  ottoman  beside  him.  A  bright  fire  of  pine 
logs  nickered  and  flamed  on  the  ample  hearth. 

Genevra  Octavia  Tompkins  was  Judge  Tompkins's  only 
child.  Her  mother  had  long  since  died  on  the  Plains. 
Beared  in  affluence,  no  pains  had  been  spared  with  the 
daughter's  education.  She  was  a  graduate  of  one  of  the 
principal  seminaries,  and  spoke  French  with  a  perfect 
Benicia  accent.  Peerlessly  beautiful,  she  was  dressed  in  a 
white  moire  antique  robe  trimmed  with  tulle.  That  simple 
rosebud,  with  which  most  heroines  exclusively  decorate 
their  hair,  was  all  she  wore  in  her  raven  locks. 

The  Judge  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Genevra,  the  logs  which  compose  yonder  fire  seem  to 
have  been  incautiously  chosen.  The  sibilation  produced 
by  the  sap,  which  exudes  copiously  therefrom,  is  not  con 
ducive  to  composition." 

"  True,  father,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  preferable  to 
the  constant  crepitation  which  is  apt  to  attend  the  combus 
tion  of  more  seasoned  ligneous  fragments." 

The  Judge  looked  admiringly  at  the  intellectual  features 
of  the  graceful  girl,  and  half  forgot  the  slight  annoyances 
of  the  green  wood  in  the  musical  accents  of  his  daughter. 
He  was  smoothing  her  hair  tenderly,  when  the  shadow  of 
a  tall  figure,  which  suddenly  darkened  the  doorway,  caused 
him  to  look  up. 

CHAPTER  H 

It  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  new-comer  to  detect  at  once 
the  form  and  features  of  the  haughty  aborigine,  —  the  un 
taught  and  untrammeled  son  of  the  forest.  Over  one 


80  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

shoulder  a  blanket,  negligently  but  gracefully  thrown,  di* 
closed  a  bare  and  powerful  breast,  decorated  with  a  quantity 
of  three-cent  postage-stamps  which  he  had  despoiled  from 
an  Overland  Mail  stage  a  few  weeks  previous.  A  cast-oft 
beaver  of  Judge  Tompkins's,  adorned  by  a  simple  feather, 
covered  his  erect  head,  from  beneath  which  his  straight 
locks  descended.  His  right  hand  hung  lightly  by  his  side, 
while  his  left  was  engaged  in  holding  on  a  pair  of  panta 
loons,  which  the  lawless  grace  and  freedom  of  his  lower 
limbs  evidently  could  not  brook. 

"  Why,"  said  the  Indian,  in  a  low  sweet  tone,  —  "  why 
does  the  Pale  Face  still  follow  the  track  of  the  Bed  Man  ? 
Why  does  he  pursue  him,  even  as  0-kee  chow,  the  wild  cat, 
chases  Ka-ka,  the  skunk  ?  Why  are  the  feet  of  Sorrel-top, 
the  white  chief,  among  the  acorns  of  Muck-a-Muck,  the 
mountain  forest  ?  Why,"  he  repeated,  quietly  but  firmly 
abstracting  a  silver  spoon  from  the  table,  —  "  why  do  you 
seek  to  drive  him  from  the  wigwams  of  his  fathers  ?  His 
brothers  are  already  gone  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds. 
Will  the  Pale  Face  seek  him  there  ?  "  And,  averting  his 
face  from  the  Judge,  he  hastily  slipped  a  silver  cake-basket 
beneath  his  blanket,  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

"  Muck-a-Muck  has  spoken."  said  Genevra  softly.  "  Let 
him  now  listen.  Are  the  acorns  of  the  mountain  sweeter 
than  the  esculent  and  nutritious  bean  of  the  Pale  Face 
miner  ?  Does  my  brother  prize  the  edible  qualities  of  the 
snail  above  that  of  the  crisp  and  oleaginous  bacon  ?  De 
licious  are  the  grasshoppers  that  sport  on  the  hillside,  — 
are  they  better  than  the  dried  apples  of  the  Pale  Faces  ? 
Pleasant  is  the  gurgle  of  the  torrent,  Kish-Kish,  but  is  it 
better  than  the  cluck-cluck  of  old  Bourbon  from  the  old 
stone  bottle  ?  " 

"  Ugh !  '*  said  the  Indian,  —  "  ugh !  good.     The  Whil 
Babbit  is  wise.     Her  words  fall  as  the  snow  on  Tootoonolo, 
and  the  rocky  heart  of  Muck-a-Muck  is  hidden.    What  says 
nay  brother  the  Gray  Gopher  of  Dutch  Flat  ?  " 


MUCK-A-MUCK  81 

"She  has  spoken,  Muck-a-Muck,"  said  the  Judge,  gazing 
fondly  on  his  daughter.  "It  is  well.  Our  treaty  is  con 
cluded.  No,  thank  you,  —  you  need  not  dance  the  Dance 
of  Snow-shoes,  or  the  Moccasin  Dance,  the  Dance  of  Green 
Corn,  or  the  Treaty  Dance.  I  would  be  alone.  A  strange 
sadness  overpowers  me." 

"  I  go,"  said  the  Indian.  "  Tell  your  great  chief  irv 
Washington,  the  Sachem  Andy,  that  the  Red  Man  is  retir 
ing  before  the  footsteps  of  the  adventurous  pioneer.  In 
form  him,  if  you  please,  that  westward  the  star  of  empire 
takes  its  way,  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Pi-Ute  nation  are  for 
Reconstruction  to  a  man,  and  that  Klamath  will  poll  a 
heavy  Republican  vote  in  the  fall." 

And  folding  his  blanket  more  tightly  around  him,  Muck- 
a-Muck  withdrew. 

CHAPTER  III 

Genevra  Tompkins  stood  at  the  door  of  the  log-cabin, 
looking  after  the  retreating  Overland  Mail  stage  which 
conveyed  her  father  to  Virginia  City.  "  He  may  never 
return  again,"  sighed  the  young  girl,  as  she  glanced  at  tht 
frightfully  rolling  vehicle  and  wildly  careering  horses,  — 
"  at  least,  with  unbroken  bones.  Should  he  meet  with  an. 
accident !  I  mind  me  now  a  fearful  legend,  familiar  to  my 
childhood.  Can  it  be  that  the  drivers  on  this  line  are 
privately  instructed  to  dispatch  all  passengers  maimed  by 
accident,  to  prevent  tedious  litigation  ?  No,  no.  But  why 
this  weight  upon  my  heart  ?  " 

She  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  lightly  passed  hei 
hand  over  the  keys.  Then,  in  a  clear  mezzo-soprano  voice, 
she  sang  the  first  verse  of  one  of  the  most  popular  Irish 
ballads :  — 

"O  Arrah  ma  dheelish,  the  distant  dudheen 
Lies  soft  in  the  moonlight,  ma  bouchal  vuurntun  : 


82  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

The  springing  gossoons  on  the  heather  are  stilL 

And  the  caubeens  and  colleens  are  heard  on  the  hilL" 

But  as  the  ravishing  notes  of  her  sweet  voice  died  upon 
the  air,  her  hands  sank  listlessly  to  her  side.  Music  could 
not  chase  away  the  mysterious  shadow  from  her  heart. 
Again  she  rose.  Putting  on  a  white  crape  bonnet,  and 
carefully  drawing  a  pair  of  lemon-colored  gloves  over  her 
taper  fingers,  she  seized  her  parasol  and  plunged  into  the 
depths  of  the  pine  forest. 

CHAPTER  IV 

Genevra  had  not  proceeded  many  miles  before  a  weari 
ness  seized  upon  her  fragile  limbs,  and  she  would  fain  seat 
herself  upon  the  trunk  of  a  prostrate  pine,  which  she  pre 
viously  dusted  with  her  handkerchief.  The  sun  was  just 
sinking  below  the  horizon,  and  the  scene  was  one  of  gor 
geous  and  sylvan  beauty.  "  How  beautiful  is  nature  !  " 
murmured  the  innocent  girl,  as,  reclining  gracefully  against 
the  root  of  the  tree,  she  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  tied  a 
handkerchief  around  her  throat.  But  a  low  growl  inter 
rupted  her  meditation.  Starting  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  met 
a  sight  which  froze  her  blood  with  terror. 

The  only  outlet  to  the  forest  was  the  narrow  path,  barely 
wide  enough  for  a  single  person,  hemmed  in  by  trees  and 
rocks,  which  she  had  just  traversed.  Down  this  path,  in 
Indian  file,  came  a  monstrous  grizzly,  closely  followed  by 
a  California  lion,  a  wild  cat,  and  a  buffalo,  the  rear  being 
brought  up  by  a  wild  Spanish  bull.  The  mouths  of  the 
three  first  animals  were  distended  with  frightful  significance, 
the  horns  of  the  last  were  lowered  as  ominously.  As 
Genevra  was  preparing  to  faint,  she  heard  a  low  voice 
behind  her. 

"  Eternally  dog-gone  my  skin  ef  this  ain't  the  puttiest 
ehance  yet ! " 


MUCK-A-MUCK  83 

At  the  same  moment,  a  long,  shining  barrel  dropped 
lightly  from  behind  her,  and  rested  over  her  shoulder. 

Genevra  shuddered. 

"  Dern  ye  —  don't  move !  " 

Genevra  became  motionless. 

The  crack  of  a  rifle  rang  through  the  woods.  Three 
frightful  yells  were  heard,  and  two  sullen  roars.  Five 
animals  bounded  into  the  air  and  five  lifeless  bodies  lay 
upon  the  plain.  The  well-aimed  bullet  had  done  its  work. 
Entering  the  open  throat  of  the  grizzly  it  had  traversed  his 
body  only  to  enter  the  throat  of  the  California  lion,  and  in 
like  manner  the  catamount,  until  it  passed  through  into  the 
respective  foreheads  of  the  bull  and  the  buffalo,  and  finally 
fell  flattened  from  the  rocky  hillside. 

Genevra  turned  quickly.  "  My  preserver  !  "  she  shrieked, 
and  fell  into  the  arms  of  Natty  Buinpo,  the  celebrated  Pike 
Ranger  of  Donner  Lake. 

CHAPTER  V 

The  moon  rose  cheerfully  above  Donner  Lake.  On  its 
placid  bosom  a  dug-out  canoe  glided  rapidly,  containing 
Natty  Bumpo  and  Genevra  Tompkins. 

Both  were  silent.  The  same  thought  possessed  each, 
and  perhaps  there  was  sweet  companionship  even  in  the 
unbroken  quiet.  Genevra  bit  the  handle  of  her  parasol, 
and  blushed.  Natty  Bumpo  took  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco. 
At  length  Genevra  said,  as  if  in  half-spoken  reverie  :  — 

"  The  soft  shining  of  the  moon  and  the  peaceful  ripple 
of  the  waves  seem  to  say  to  us  various  things  of  an  instruc 
tive  and  moral  tendency." 

"You  may  bet  yer  pile  on  that,  miss,"  said  her  com- 
pinion  gravely.  "  It 's  all  the  preachin'  and  psalm-singin' 
I  've  heern  since  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Noble  being  ! "  said  Miss  Tompkins  to  herself,  glancing 


84  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

at  the  stately  Pike  as  he  bent  over  his  paddle  to  conceal 
his  emotion.  "  Reared  in  this  wild  seclusion,  yet  he  has 
become  penetrated  with  visible  consciousness  of  a  Great 
First  Cause."  Then,  collecting  herself,  she  said  aloud  : 
"  Methinks  't  were  pleasant  to  glide  ever  thus  down  the 
stream  of  life,  hand  in  hand  with  the  one  being  whom  the 
soul  claims  as  its  affinity.  But  what  am  I  saying  ?  "  — 
and  the  delicate-minded  girl  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

A  long  silence  ensued,  which  was  at  length  broken  by 
her  companion. 

"  Ef  you  mean  you  're  on  the  marry/'  he  said  thought 
fully,  "  I  ain't  in  no  wise  partikler." 

"  My  husband !  "  faltered  the  blushing  girl ;  and  she  fell 
into  his  arms. 

In  ten  minutes  more  the  loving  couple  had  landed  at 
Judge  Tompkins's. 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  year  has  passed  away.  Natty  Bumpo  was  returning 
from  Gold  Hill,  where  he  had  been  to  purchase  provisions. 
On  his  way  to  Donner  Lake,  rumors  of  an  Indian  uprising 
met  his  ears.  "  Dern  their  pesky  skins,  ef  they  dare  to 
touch  my  Jenny,"  he  muttered  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

It  was  dark  when  he  reached  the  borders  of  the  lake. 
Around  a  glittering  fire  he  dimly  discerned  dusky  figures 
dancing.  They  were  in  war  paint.  Conspicuous  among 
them  was  the  renowned  Muck-a-Muck.  But  why  did  the 
fingers  of  Natty  Bumpo  tighten  convulsively  around  his 
rifle? 

The  chief  held  in  his  hand  long  tufts  of  raven  hair.  The 
heart  of  the  pioneer  sickened  as  he  recognized  the  clustering 
curls  of  Genevra.  In  a  moment  his  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder, 
and  with  a  sharp  "  ping  "  Muck-a-Muck  leaped  into  the 
tir  a  corpse.  To  knock  out  the  brains  of  the  remaining 


MUCK-A-MUCK  85 

savages,  tear  the  tresses  from  the  stiffening  hand  of  Muck- 
a-Muck,  and  dash  rapidly  forward  to  the  cottage  of  Judge 
Tompkins,  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

He  burst  open  the  door.  Why  did  he  stand  transfixed 
with  open  mouth  and  distended  eyeballs  ?  Was  the  sight 
too  horrible  to  be  borne  ?  On  the  contrary,  before  him, 
in  her  peerless  beauty,  stood  Genevra  Tompkins,  leaning 
on  her  father's  arm. 

"  Ye  7r  not  scalped,  then  !  "  gasped  her  lover. 

"  No.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I  am  not ;  but 
why  this  abruptness  ?  "  responded  Genevra. 

Bumpo  could  not  speak,  but  frantically  produced  the 
silken  tresses.  Genevra  turned  her  face  aside. 

"  Why,  that  >s  her  waterfall !  "  said  the  Judge. 

Bumpo  sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 

The  famous  Pike  chieftain  never  recovered  from  th* 
deceit,  and  refused  to  marry  Genevra,  who  died,  twenty 
years  afterwards,  of  a  broken  heart.  Judge  Tompkins  lost 
his  fortune  in  Wild  Cat.  The  stage  passes  twice  a  week 
the  deserted  cottage  at  Donner  Lake.  Thus  was  the  death 
of  Muck-a-Muck  avenged. 


SELINA  SEDILIA 

BY   MISS    M.    E.    B-DD-N    AND    MRS.    H-N-Y 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  sun  was  setting  over  Sloperton  Grange,  and  reddened 
the  window  of  the  lonely  chamber  in  the  western  tower, 
supposed  to  be  haunted  by  Sir  Edward  Sedilia,  the  founder 
of  the  Grange.  In  the  dreamy  distance  arose  the  gilded 
mausoleum  of  Lady  Felicia  Sedilia,  who  haunted  that  por 
tion  of  Sedilia  Manor  known  as  "  Stiff-uns  Acre."  A  little 
to  the  left  of  the  Grange  might  have  been  seen  a  moulder 
ing  ruin,  known  as  "  Guy's  Keep,"  haunted  by  the  spirit  of 
Sir  Guy  Sedilia,  who  was  found,  one  morning,  crushed  by 
one  of  the  fallen  battlements.  Yet,  as  the  setting  sun 
gilded  these  objects,  a  beautiful  and  almost  holy  calm 
seemed  diffused  about  the  Grange. 

The  Lady  Selina  sat  by  an  oriel  window  overlooking  the 
park.  The  sun  sank  gently  in  the  bosom  of  the  German 
Ocean,  and  yet  the  lady  did  not  lift  her  beautiful  head 
from  the  finely  curved  arm  and  diminutive  hand  which 
supported  it.  When  darkness  finally  shrouded  the  land 
scape  she  started,  for  the  sound  of  horse-hoofs  clattered 
over  the  stones  of  the  avenue.  She  had  scarcely  risen, 
before  an  aristocratic  young  man  fell  on  his  knees  before 
her. 

"  My  Selina  !  " 

"  Edgardo  !     You  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dearest." 

*  And  —  you  —  you  —  have  — -  seen  nothing  ?  "  said  the 


SELINA  SEDILIA  87 

lady  in  an  agitated  voice  and  nervous  manner,  turning  her 
face  aside  to  conceal  her  emotion. 

"Nothing  —  that  is,  nothing  of  any  account,"  said  Ed- 
gardo.  "  I  passed  the  ghost  of  your  aunt  in  the  park, 
noticed  the  spectre  of  your  uncle  in  the  ruined  keep,  and 
observed  the  familiar  features  of  the  spirit  of  your  great 
grandfather  at  his  usual  post.  But  nothing  beyond  these 
trifles,  my  Selina.  Nothing  more,  love,  absolutely  nothing." 

The  young  man  turned  his  dark,  liquid  orbs  fondly  upon 
the  ingenuous  face  of  his  betrothed. 

"  My  own  Edgardo  !  —  and  you  still  love  me  ?  You  still 
would  marry  me  in  spite  of  this  dark  mystery  which  sur 
rounds  me  ?  In  spite  of  the  fatal  history  of  my  race  ?  In 
spite  of  the  ominous  predictions  of  my  aged  nurse  ?  " 

"  I  would,  Selina  ;  "  and  the  young  man  passed  his  arm 
around  her  yielding  waist.  The  two  lovers  gazed  at  each 
other's  faces  in  unspeakable  bliss.  Suddenly  Selina  started. 

"Leave  me,  Edgardo  !  leave  me!  A  mysterious  some 
thing  —  a  fatal  misgiving  —  a  dark  ambiguity  —  an  equiv 
ocal  mistrust  oppresses  me.  I  would  be  alone  !  " 

The  young  man  arose,  and  cast  a  loving  glance  on  the 
lady.  "  Then  we  will  be  married  on  the  seventeenth." 

"  The  seventeenth,"  repeated  Selina,  with  a  mysterious 
shudder. 

They  embraced  and  parted.  As  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in 
the  courtyard  died  away,  the  Lady  Selina  sank  into  the 
chair  she  had  just  quitted. 

"  The  seventeenth,"  she  repeated  slowly,  with  the  same 
fateful  shudder.  "  Ah  !  —  what  if  he  should  know  that  I 
have  another  husband  living  ?  Dare  I  reveal  to  him  that 
I  have  two  legitimate  and  three  natural  children  ?  Dare 
I  repeat  to  him  the  history  of  my  youth  ?  Dare  I  confess 
that  at  the  age  of  seven  I  poisoned  my  sister,  by  putting 
verdigris  in  her  cream-tarts,  —  that  I  threw  my  cousin  from 
a  swing  at  the  age  of  twelve  ?  That  the  lady's  maid  whe 


88  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

incurred  the  displeasure  of  my  girlhood  now  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  the  horse-pond  ?  No  !  no !  he  is  too  pure,  —  too 
good,  —  too  innocent,  —  to  hear  such  improper  conversa 
tion  !  "  and  her  whole  body  writhed  as  she  rocked  to  and 
fro  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief. 

But  she  was  soon  calm.  Rising  to  her  feet,  she  opened 
a  secret  panel  in  the  wall,  and  revealed  a  slow-match  ready 
for  lighting. 

"  This  match,"  said  the  Lady  Selina,  "  is  connected  with 
a  mine  beneath  the  western  tower,  where  my  three  children 
are  confined  ;  another  branch  of  it  lies  under  the  parish 
church,  where  the  record  of  my  first  marriage  is  kept.  I 
have  only  to  light  this  match  and  the  wrhole  of  my  past  life 
is  swept  away  !  "  She  approached  the  match  with  a  lighted 
candle. 

But  a  hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm,  and  with  a  shriek  the 
Lady  Selina  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  spectre  of  Sir  Guy. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  Forbear,  Selina,"  said   the  phantom  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  Why  should  I  forbear  ?  "  responded  Selina  haughtily, 
as  she  recovered  her  courage.  "  You  know  the  secret  of 
our  race  ?  " 

"  I  do.  Understand  me,  —  I  do  not  object  to  the  eccen 
tricities  of  your  youth.  I  know  the  fearful  destiny  which, 
pursuing  you,  led  you  to  poison  your  sister  and  drown  your 
lady's  maid.  I  know  the  awful  doom  which  I  have  brought 
upon  this  house.  But  if  you  make  away  with  these  chil 
dren  "  — 

"  Well,"  said  the  Lady  Selina  hastily. 

"  They  will  haunt  you  !  " 

"  Well,  I  fear  them  not,"  said  Selina,  drawing  her  superb 
figure  to  its  full  height. 


SELINA  SEDILIA  89 

"  Yes,  but,  my  dear  child,  what  place  are  they  to  haunt  ? 
f  he  ruin  is  sacred  to  your  uncle's  spirit.  Your  aunt  mono 
polizes  the  park,  and,  I  must  be  allowed  to  state,  not  unfre- 
}uently  trespasses  upon  the  grounds  of  others.  The  horse- 
pond  is  frequented  by  the  spirit  of  your  maid,  and  your 
murdered  sister  walks  these  corridors.  To  be  plain,  there 
is  no  room  at  Sloperton  Grange  for  another  ghost.  I  cannot 
have  them  in  my  room,  —  for  you  know  I  don't  like  children. 
Think  of  this,  rash  girl,  and  forbear  !  Would  you,  Selina," 
said  the  phantom  mournfully,  — "  would  you  force  your 
great-grandfather's  spirit  to  take  lodgings  elsewhere  ?  " 

Lady  Selina's  hand  trembled ;  the  lighted  candle  fell 
from  her  nerveless  fingers. 

"  No,"  she  cried  passionately  ;  "  never  !  "  and  fell  faint 
ing  to  the  floor. 

CHAPTER  III 

Edgardo  galloped  rapidly  towards  Sloperton.  When  the 
outline  of  the  Grange  had  faded  away  in  the  darkness,  he 
reined  his  magnificent  steed  beside  the  ruins  of  Guy's  Keep. 

"  It  wants  but  a  few  minutes  of  the  hour,"  he  said,  con 
sulting  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  "  He  dare  not 
break  his  word.  He  will  come."  He  paused,  and  peered 
anxiously  into  the  darkness.  "  But  come  what  may,  she  is 
mine,"  he  continued,  as  his  thoughts  reverted  fondly  to  the 
fair  lady  he  had  quitted.  "  Yet  ft  she  knew  all.  If  she 
knew  that  I  am  a  disgraced  and  ruined  man,  —  a  felon 
and  an  outcast.  If  she  knew  that  at  the  age  of  fourteen  I 
murdered  my  Latin  tutor  and  forged  my  uncle's  will.  If 
she  knew  that  I  had  three  wives  already,  and  that  the 
fourtli  victim  of  misplaced  confidence  and  my  unfortunate 
peculiarity  is  expected  to  be  at  Sloperton  by  to-night's  train 
with  her  baby.  But  no ;  she  must  not  know  it.  Constance 
must  not  arrive ;  Burke  the  Slogger  must  attend  to  that. 


50  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

"  Ha  !  here  he  is  !     Well  ?  " 

These  words  were  addressed  to  a  ruffian  in  a  slouched 
hat,  who  suddenly  appeared  from  Guy's  Keep. 

"  I  be's  here,  measter,"  said  the  villain,  with  a  disgrace 
fully  low  accent  and  complete  disregard  of  grammatical 
rules. 

"It  is  well.  Listen :  I  'm  in  possession  of  facts  that 
will  send  you  to  the  gallows.  I  know  of  the  murder  of 
Bill  Smithers,  the  robbery  of  the  tollgate-keeper,  and  the 
making  away  of  the  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  Reginald  de 
Walton.  A  word  from  me,  and  the  officers  of  justice  are 
on  your  track." 

Burke  the  Slogger  trembled. 

"  Hark  ye  !  serve  my  purpose,  and  I  may  yet  save  you. 
The  5.30  train  from  Clapham  will  be  due  at  Sloperton  at 
9.25.  It  must  not  arrive  !  " 

The  villain's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  nodded  at  Edgardo. 

"  Enough,  —  you  understand  ;  leave  me  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

About  half  a  mile  from  Sloperton  Station  the  South  Clap- 
ham  and  Medway  line  crossed  a  bridge  over  Sloperton-on- 
Trent.  As  the  shades  of  evening  were  closing,  a  man  in 
a  slouched  hat  might  have  been  seen,  carrying  a  saw  and 
axe  under  his  arm,  hanging  about  the  bridge.  From  time 
to  time  he  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  its  abutments, 
but  the  sound  of  a  saw  and  axe  still  betrayed  his  vicinity. 
At  exactly  nine  o'clock  he  reappeared,  and  crossing  to  the 
Sloperton  side,  rested  his  shoulder  against  the  abutment 
and  gave  a  shove.  The  bridge  swayed  a  moment,  and  then 
fell  with  a  splash  into  the  water,  leaving  a  space  of  one 
hundred  feet  between  the  two  banks.  This  done,  Burke 
the  Slogger,  —  for  it  was  he,  —  with  a  fiendish  chuckle 


SELINA   SEDILIA.  91 

seated  himself  on  the  divided  railway  track  and  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  train. 

A  shriek  from  the  woods  announced  its  approach.  For 
an  instant  Burke  the  Slogger  saw  the  glaring  of  a  red  lamp. 
The  ground  trembled.  The  train  was  going  with  fearful 
rapidity.  Another  second  and  it  had  reached  the  bank. 
Burke  the  Slogger  uttered  a  fiendish  laugh.  But  the  next 
moment  the  train  leaped  across  the  chasm,  striking  the  rails 
exactly  even,  and  dashing  out  the  life  of  Burke  the  Slogger, 
sped  away  to  Sloperton. 

The  first  object  that  greeted  Edgardo,  as  he  rode  up  to 
the  station  on  the  arrival  of  the  train,  was  the  body  of 
Burke  the  Slogger  hanging  on  the  cowcatcher ;  the  second 
was  the  face  of  his  deserted  wife  looking  from  the  window 
of  a  second-class  carriage. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  nameless  terror  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of 
Clarissa,  Lady  Selina's  maid,  as  she  rushed  into  the  presence 
of  her  mistress. 

"  Oh,  my  lady,  such  news  !  " 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  her  mistress,  rising. 

"  An  accident  has  happened  on  the  railway,  and  a  man 
has  been  killed.'' 

"  What  —  not  Edgardo  !  "  almost  screamed  Selina, 

"  No,  Burke  the  Slogger,  your  ladyship !  " 

"  My  first  husband  ! "  said  Lady  Selina,  sinking  on  her 
knees.  "  Just  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !  " 


92  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  morning  of  the  seventeenth  dawned  brightly 
Sloperton.  "  A  fine  day  for  the  wedding,"  said  the  sexton 
to  Swipes,  the  butler  of  Sloperton  Grange.  The  aged 
retainer  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  Alas  !  there  's  no  trusting 
in  signs ! "  he  continued.  "  Seventy-five  years  ago,  on  a 
day  like  this,  my  young  mistress  "  —  but  he  was  cut  shori 
by  the  appearance  of  a  stranger. 

"I  would  see  Sir  Edgardo,"  said  the  new-comer  im 
patiently. 

The  bridegroom,  who,  with  the  rest  of  the  wedding-train, 
was  about  stepping  into  the  carriage  to  proceed  to  the  parish 
church,  drew  the  stranger  aside. 

"  It 's  done  !  "  said  the  stranger,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Ah  !   and  you  buried  her  ?  " 

"With  the  others!" 

"Enough.  JSTo  more  at  present.  Meet  me  after  the 
ceremony,  and  you  shall  have  your  reward." 

The  stranger  shuffled  away,  and  Edgardo  returned  to  his 
bride.  "  A  trifling  matter  of  business  I  had  forgotten,  my 
dear  Selina  ;  let  us  proceed."  And  the  young  man  pressed 
the  timid  hand  of  his  blushing  bride  as  he  handed  her  into 
the  carriage.  The  cavalcade  rode  out  of  the  courtyard. 
At  the  same  moment,  the  deep  bell  on  Guy's  Keep  tolled 
ominously. 

CHAPTER  VH 

Scarcely  had  the  wedding-train  left  the  Grange,  than 
Alice  Sedilia,  youngest  daughter  of  Lady  Selina,  made  her 
escape  from  the  western  tower,  owing  to  a  lack  of  watch 
fulness  on  the  part  of  Clarissa.  The  innocent  child,  freed 
from  restraint,  rambled  through  the  lonely  corridors,  and 


SELINA   SEDILIA  83 

finally,  opening  a  door,  found  herself  in  her  mother's  bou 
doir.  For  some  time  she  amused  herself  by  examining  the 
various  ornaments  and  elegant  trifles  with  which  it  was 
filled.  Then,  in  pursuance  of  a  childish  freak,  she  dressed 
herself  in  her  mother's  laces  and  ribbons.  In  this  occupa 
tion  she  chanced  to  touch  a  peg  which  proved  to  be  a  spring 
that  opened  a  secret  panel  in  the  wall.  Alice  uttered  a 
cry  of  delight  as  she  noticed  what,  to  her  childish  fancy, 
appeared  to  be  the  slow-match  of  a  firework.  Taking  a 
lucifer  match  in  her  hand  she  approached  the  fuse.  She 
hesitated  a  moment.  What  would  her  mother  and  her 
nurse  say  ? 

Suddenly  the  ringing  of  the  chimes  of  Sloperton  parish 
church  met  her  ear.  Alice  knew  that  the  sound  signified 
that  the  marriage-party  had  entered  the  church,  and  that 
she  was  secure  from  interruption.  With  a  childish  smile 
upon  her  lips,  Alice  Sedilia  touched  off  the  slow-match. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

At  exactly  two  o'clock  on  the  seventeenth,  Rupert 
Sedilia,  who  had  just  returned  from  India,  was  thought 
fully  descending  the  hill  toward  Sloperton  manor.  "  If  I 
can  prove  that  my  aunt,  Lady  Selina,  was  married  before  my 
father  died,  I  can  establish  my  claim  to  Sloperton  Grange/' 
he  uttered,  half  aloud.  He  paused,  for  a  sudden  trembling 
of  the  earth  beneath  his  feet,  and  a  terrific  explosion,  as  of 
a  park  of  artillery,  arrested  his  progress.  At  the  same 
moment  he  beheld  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke  envelop  the 
churchyard  of  Sloperton,  and  the  western  tower  of  the 
Grange  seemed  to  be  lifted  bodily  from  its  foundation. 
The  air  seemed  filled  with  falling  fragments,  and  two  dark 
objects  struck  the  earth  close  at  his  feet.  Eupert  picked 
them  up.  One  seemed  to  be  a  heavy  volume  bound  in 
brass. 


94  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

A  cry  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  The  Parish  Records."  He  opened  the  volume  hastily. 
It  contained  the  marriage  of  Lady  Selina  to  "  Burke  the 
Slogger." 

The  second  object  proved  to  be  a  piece  of  parchment. 
He  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers.  It  was  the  missing 
will  of  Sir  James  Sedilia ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

When  the  bells  again  rang  on  the  new  parish  church  of 
Sloperton  it  was  for  the  marriage  of  Sir  Rupert  Sedilia  and 
his  cousin,  the  only  remaining  members  of  the  family. 

Five  more  ghosts  were  added  to  the  supernatural  popula 
tion  of  Sloperton  Grange.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason  why 
Sir  Rupert  sold  the  property  shortly  afterward,  and  that 
for  many  years  a  dark  shadow  seemed  to  hang  over  the  ruins 
of  Sloperton  Grange. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUAKDSMEN 

BY    AL-X-D-R    D-M-8 

CHAPTER  I 

SHOWING     THE     QUALITY     OP    THE     CUSTOMERS     OF     THH 
INNKEEPER    OF    PROVINS 

TWENTY  years  after,  the  gigantic  innkeeper  of  Provins 
stood  looking  at  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  highway. 

This  cloud  of  dust  betokened  the  approach  of  a  traveler. 
Travelers  had  been  rare  that  season  on  the  highway  be 
tween  Paris  and  Provins. 

The  heart  of  the  innkeeper  rejoiced.  Turning  to  Dame 
Perigord,  his  wife,  he  said,  stroking  his  white  apron,  — 

"  St.  Denis  !  make  haste  and  spread  the  cloth.  Add  a 
bottle  of  Charlevoix  to  the  table.  This  traveler,  who  rides 
so  fast,  by  his  pace  must  be  a  monseigneur." 

Truly  the  traveler,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  a  musketeer, 
as  he  drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  hostelry,  did  not  seem  to 
have  spared  his  horse.  Throwing  his  reins  to  the  landlord, 
he  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
four  and  twenty,  and  spoke  with  a  slight  Gascon  accent. 

"  I  am  hungry,  morbleu !     I  wish  to  dine  !  " 

The  gigantic  innkeeper  bowed  and  led  the  way  to  a  neat 
apartment,  where  a  table  stood  covered  with  tempting 
viands.  The  musketeer  at  once  set  to  work.  Fowls,  fish, 
and  pate's  disappeared  before  him.  Perigord  sighed  as  he 
witnessed  the  devastations.  Only  once  the  stranger 
paused. 


96  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"  Wine !  "  Perigord  brought  wine.  The  stranger  drank 
a  dozen  bottles.  Finally  he  rose  to  depart.  Turning  to 
the  expectant  landlord,  he  said,  — 

"  Charge  it." 

"  To  whom,  your  highness  ?  "   said  Perigord  anxiously. 

"  To  his  Eminence  !  " 

"  Mazarin  ?  "  ejaculated  the  innkeeper. 

"  The  same.  Bring  me  my  horse,"  and  the  musketeer, 
remounting  his  favorite  animal,  rode  away. 

The  innkeeper  slowly  turned  back  into  the  inn.  Scarcely 
had  he  reached  the  courtyard  before  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
again  called  him  to  the  doorway.  A  young  musketeer  of 
a  light  and  graceful  figure  rode  up. 

"  Parbleu,  my  dear  Perigord,  I  am  famishing.  What 
have  you  got  for  dinner  ?  " 

"  Venison,  capons,  larks,  and  pigeons,  your  excellency," 
replied  the  obsequious  landlord/ bo  wing  to  the  ground. 

"  Enough  !  "  The  young  musketeer  dismounted,  and  en 
tered  the  inn.  Seating  himself  at  the  table  replenished  by 
the  careful  Perigord,  he  speedily  swept  it  as  clean  as  the 
first  comer. 

"Some  wine,  my  brave  Perigord,"  said  the  graceful 
young  musketeer,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  utterance. 

Perigord  brought  three  dozen  of  Charlevoix.  The  young 
man  emptied  them  almost  at  a  draught. 

"  By-by,  Pe'rigord,"  he  said  lightly,  waving  his  hand,  as, 
preceding  the  astonished  landlord,  he  slowly  withdrew. 

"  But,  your  highness,  —  the  bill,"  said  the  astounded 
Pe'rigord. 

"  Ah,  the  bill.     Charge  it !  " 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  The  Queen  !  " 

"  What,  Madame  ?  " 

"The  same.  Adieu,  my  good  Perigord."  And  the 
graceful  stranger  rode  away.  An  interval  of  quiet  succeeded, 


THE   NINETY-NINE    GUARDSMEN  97 

in  which  the  innkeeper  gazed  woefully  at  his  wife.  Suddenly 
he  was  startled  by  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  an  aristocratic 
figure  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  courtier  good-naturedly.  "  What,  do  my 
eyes  deceive  me?  No,  it  is  the  festive  and  luxurious 
Perigord.  Perigord,  listen.  I  famish.  I  languish.  I 
would  dine." 

The  innkeeper  again  covered  the  table  with  viands. 
Again  it  was  swept  clean  as  the  fields  of  Egypt  before  the 
miraculous  swarm  of  locusts.  The  stranger  looked  up. 

"  Bring  me  another  fowl,  my  Perigord." 

"  Impossible,  your  excellency ;  the  larder  is  stripped 
clean." 

"  Another  flitch  of  bacon,  then." 

"  Impossible,  your  highness  ;  there  is  no  more." 

"  Well,  then,  wine  !  " 

The  landlord  brought  one  hundred  and  forty-four  bot 
tles.  The  courtier  drank  them  all. 

"  One  may  drink  if  one  cannot  eat,"  said  the  aristocratic 
stranger  good-humoredly. 

The  innkeeper  shuddered. 

The  guest  rose  to  depart.  The  innkeeper  came  slowly 
forward  with  his  bill,  to  which  he  had  covertly  added  the 
losses  which  he  had  suffered  from  the  previous  strangers. 

«  Ah,  the  bill.      Charge  it." 

"  Charge  it  !   to  whom  ?  " 

"To  the  King,"  said  the  guest. 

"  What !   his  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Certainly.      Farewell,  Perigord." 

The  innkeeper  groaned.  Then  he  went  out  and  took 
down  his  sign.  Then  remarked  to  his  wife,  — 

"  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  don't  understand  politics.  It 
seems,  however,  that  the  country  is  in  a  troubled  state. 
Between  his  Eminence  the  Cardinal,  his  Majesty  the  King, 
and  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  I  am  a  ruined  man." 


98  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

"  Stay/'  said  Dame  Perigord,  "  I  have  an  idea." 

"  And  that  is  "  — 

"Become  yourself  a  musketeer." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    COMBAT 

On  leaving  Provins  the  first  musketeer  proceeded  to 
Nangis,  where  he  was  reinforced  by  thirty-three  followers. 
The  second  musketeer,  arriving  at  Nangis  at  the  same 
moment,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  thirty-three  more. 
The  third  guest  of  the  landlord  of  Provins  arrived  at  Nan 
gis  in  time  to  assemble  together  thirty -three  other  mus 
keteers. 

The  first  stranger  led  the  troops  of  his  Eminence. 

The  second  led  the  troops  of  the  Queen. 

The  third  led  the  troops  of  the  King. 

The  fight  commenced.  It  raged  terribly  for  seven  hours. 
The  first  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  the  Queen's  troops. 
The  second  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  the  King's  troops. 
The  third  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  his  Eminence's  troops. 

By  this  time  it  will  be  perceived  the  number  of  mus 
keteers  had  been  narrowed  down  to  four  on  each  side. 

Naturally  the  three  principal  warriors  approached  each 
other. 

They  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Aramis  ! " 

«  Athos !  " 

"  D'Artagnan !  " 

They  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

"And  it  seems  that  we  are  fighting  against  each  other, 
my  children,"  said  the  Count  de  la  Fere  mournfully. 

"  How  singular  !  "  exclaimed  Aramis  and  D'Artagnan. 

"  Let  us  stop  this  fratricidal  warfare,"  said  Athos. 


THE  NINETY-NINE   GUARDSMEN  99 

"  We  will !  "  they  exclaimed  together. 

"  But  how  to  disband  our  followers  ?  "  queried  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

Ararais  winked.  They  understood  each  other.  "  Let 
us  cut  'em  down  !  " 

They  cut  'em  down.  Aramis  killed  three.  D'Artagnan 
three.  Athos  three. 

The  friends  again  embraced.  "  How  like  old  times  !  " 
said  Aramis.  "  How  touching !  "  exclaimed  the  serious  and 
philosophic  Count  de  la  Fere. 

The  galloping  of  hoofs  caused  them  to  withdraw  from 
each  other's  embraces.  A  gigantic  figure  rapidly  ap 
proached. 

"  The  innkeeper  of  Provins  !  "  they  cried,  drawing  their 
swords. 

"  Perigord  !  down  with  him  !  "  shouted  D'Artagnan. 

"  Stay,"  said  Athos. 

The  gigantic  figure  was  beside  them.     He  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Athos,  Aramis,  D'Artagnan  !  " 

"  Porthos  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  trio. 

"  The  same."     They  all  fell  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  slowly  raised  his  hands  to  heaven. 
"  Bless  you !  Bless  us,  my  children  !  However  different 
our  opinion  may  be  in  regard  to  politics,  we  have  but  one 
opinion  in  regard  to  our  own  merits.  Where  can  you  find 
a  better  man  than  Aramis  ?  " 

"  Than  Porthos  ?  "  said  Aramis. 

"  Than  D'Artagnan  ?  "  said  Porthos. 

"  Than  Athos  ?  "  said  D'Artagnan. 


100  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  III 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  KING  OF  FRANCE  WENT  UP  A  LADDER 

The  King  descended  into  the  garden.  Proceeding  cau 
tiously  along  the  terraced  walk,  he  came  to  the  wall  imme 
diately  below  the  windows  of  Madame.  To  the  left  were 
two  windows,  concealed  by  vines.  They  opened  into  the 
apartments  of  La  Valliere. 

The  King  sighed. 

"  It  is  about  nineteen  feet  to  that  window,"  said  the 
King.  "  If  I  had  a  ladder  about  nineteen  feet  long,  it 
would  reach  to  that  window.  This  is  logic." 

Suddenly  the  King  stumbled  over  something.  "  St. 
Denis  ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  down.  It  was  a  ladder, 
just  nineteen  feet  long. 

The  King  placed  it  against  the  wall.  In  so  doing,  he 
fixed  the  lower  end  upon  the  abdomen  of  a  man  who  lay 
concealed  by  the  wall.  The  man  did  not  utter  a  cry  or 
wince.  The  King  suspected  nothing.  He  ascended  the 
ladder. 

The  ladder  was  too  short.  Louis  the  Grand  was  not  a 
tall  man.  He  was  still  two  feet  below  the  window. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  said  the  King. 

Suddenly  the  ladder  was  lifted  two  feet  from  below. 
This  enabled  the  King  to  leap  in  the  window.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  apartment  stood  a  young  girl,  with  red 
hair  and  a  lame  leg.  She  was  trembling  with  emotion. 

"Louise!" 

"  The  King  !  " 

"  Ah,  my  God,  mademoiselle." 

"  Ah,  my  God,  sire." 

But  a  low  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  the  lovers, 
The  King  uttered  a  cry  of  rage ;  Louise  one  of  despair. 


THE   NINETY-NINE   GUARDSMEN  101 

The  door  opened  and  D'Artagnan  entered. 

"  Good-evening,  sire,"  said  the  musketeer. 

The  King  touched  a  bell.  Porthos  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Good-evening,  sire." 

"  Arrest  M.  D'Artagnan." 

Porthos  looked  at  D'Artagnan,  and  did  not  move. 

The  King  almost  turned  purple  with  rage.  He  again 
touched  the  bell.  Athos  entered. 

"  Count,  arrest  Porthos  and  D'Artagnan." 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  glanced  at  Porthos  and  D'Ar- 
fcagnan,  and  smiled  sweetly. 

"  Sacre  !     Where  is  Aramis?"  said  the  King  violently, 

f<  Here,  sire,"  and  Aramis  entered. 

"  Arrest  Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artagnan." 

Aramis  bowed  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  Arrest  yourself  !  " 

Aramis  did  not  move. 

The  King  shuddered  and  turned  pale.  "  Am  I  not  King 
of  France  ?  " 

"Assuredly,  sire,  but  we  are  also,  severally,  Porthos, 
Aramis,  D'Artagnan,  and  Athos." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  King. 

"Yes,  sire." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,  your  Majesty,"  said  Aramis,  stepping  forward, 
''  that  your  conduct  as  a  married  man  is  highly  improper/ 
£  am  an  abbe,  and  I  object  to  these  improprieties.  My 
friends  here,  D'Artagnan,  Athos,  and  Porthos,  pure-minded 
young  men,  are  also  terribly  shocked.  Observe,  sire,  how 
they  blush !  " 

Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artagnan  blushed. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  King  thoughtfully.  "  You  teach  me  a 
lesson.  You  are  devoted  and  noble  young  gentlemen,  but 
your  only  weakness  is  your  excessive  modesty.  From  this 


CONDENSED  NOVELS 

moment  I  make  you  all  marshals  and  dukes,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  Aramis." 

"  And  me,  sire  ?  "  said  Aramis. 

"  You  shall  be  an  archbishop  !  " 

The  four  friends  looked  up  and  then  rushed  into  each 
other's  arms.  The  King  embraced  Louise  de  la  Yalliere, 
by  way  of  keeping  them  company.  A  pause  ensued.  At 
last  Athos  spoke,  — 

"  Swear,  my  children,  that,  next  to  yourselves,  you  will 
respect  —  the  King  of  France  ;  and  remember  that  '  Forty 
years  after '  we  will  meet  again." 


MISS  MIX 

BY   CH-L-TTE  BR-NTE 

CHAPTER  I 

MY  earliest  impressions  are  of  a  huge,  misshapen  rock, 
igainst  which  the  hoarse  waves  beat  unceasingly.  On  this 
rock  three  pelicans  are  standing  in  a  defiant  attitude.  A 
dark  sky  lowers  in  the  background,  while  two  sea-gulls  and 
a  gigantic  cormorant  eye  with  extreme  disfavor  the  float 
ing  corpse  of  a  drowned  woman  in  the  foreground.  A  few 
bracelets,  coral  necklaces,  and  other  articles  of  jewelry 
scattered  around  loosely,  complete  this  remarkable  picture 

It  is  one  which,  in  some  vague,  unconscious  way, 
symbolizes,  to  my  fancy,  the  character  of  a  man.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  explain  exactly  why.  I  think  I  must 
have  seen  the  picture  in  some  illustrated  volume  wher  -v 
baby,  or  my  mother  may  have  dreamed  it  before  I  wa* 
born. 

As  a  child  I  was  not  handsome.  When  I  consulted  the 
triangular  bit  of  looking-glass  which  I  always  carried  with 
me,  it  showed  a  pale,  sandy,  and  freckled  face,  shaded  by 
locks  like  the  color  of  seaweed  when  the  sun  strikes  it  in 
deep  water.  My  eyes  were  said  to  be  indistinctive  ;  they 
were  a  faint,  ashen  gray  ;  but  above  them  rose  —  my  only 
beauty  —  a  high,  massive,  domelike  forehead,  with  polished 
temples,  like  door-knobs  of  the  purest  porcelain. 

Our  family  was  a  family  of  governesses.  My  mother 
had  been  one,  and  my  sisters  had  the  same  occupation. 
Consequently,  when,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  my  eldest  sister 


104  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

handed  me  the  advertisement  of  Mr.  K-awjester,  clipped 
from  that  day's  "  Times,"  I  accepted  it  as  my  destiny.  Nev 
ertheless,  a  mysterious  presentiment  of  an  indefinite  future 
haunted  me  in  my  dreams  that  night,  as  I  lay  upon  my  lit 
tle  snow-white  bed.  The  next  morning,  with  two  band* 
boxes  tied  up  in  silk  handkerchiefs,  and  a  hair  trunk,  7". 
turned  my  back  upon  Minerva  Cottage  forever. 


CHAPTER  II 

Blunder  bore  Hall,  the  seat  of  James  Rawj  ester,  Esq., 
was  encompassed  by  dark  pines  and  funereal  hemlocks 
on  all  sides.  The  wind  sang  weirdly  in  the  turrets  and 
moaned  through  the  long-drawn  avenues  of  the  park.  As 
I  approached  the  house  I  saw  several  mysterious  figures  flit 
before  the  windows,  and  a  yell  of  demoniac  laughter 
answered  my  summons  at  the  bell.  While  I  strove  to  re 
press  my  gloomy  forebodings,  the  housekeeper,  a  timid, 
scared-looking  old  woman,  showed  me  into  the  library. 

I  entered,  overcome  with  conflicting  emotions.  I  was 
dressed  in  a  narrow  gown  of  dark  serge,  trimmed  with 
black  bugles.  A  thick  green  shawl  was  pinned  across  my 
breast.  My  hands  were  encased  with  black  half-mittens 
worked  with  steel  beads ;  on  my  feet  were  large  pattens, 
originally  the  property  of  my  deceased  grandmother.  I 
carried  a  blue  cotton  umbrella.  As  I  passed  before  a  mir 
ror  I  could  not  help  glancing  at  it,  nor  could  I  disguise 
from  myself  the  fact  that  I  was  not  handsome. 

Drawing  a  chair  into  a  recess,  I  sat  down  with  folded 
hands,  calmly  awaiting  the  arrival  of  my  master.  Once  or 
twice  a  fearful  yell  rang  through  the  house,  or  the  rattling 
of  chains,  and  curses  uttered  in  a  deep,  manly  voice,  broke 
upon  the  oppressive  stillness.  I  began  to  feel  my  soul  ris 
ing  with  the  emergency  of  the  moment. 


MISS   MIX  105 

"  You  look  alarmed,  miss.  You  don't  hear  anything,  my 
dear,  do  you  ?  "  asked  the  housekeeper  nervously. 

"Nothing  whatever,"  I  remarked  calmly,  as  a  terrific 
scream,  followed  by  the  dragging  of  chairs  and  tables  in 
the  room  above,  drowned  for  a  moment  my  reply.  "It  is 
the  silence,  on  the  contrary,  which  has  made  me  foolishly 
nervous." 

The  housekeeper  looked  at  me  approvingly,  and  in 
stantly  made  some  tea  for  me. 

I  drank  seven  cups  ;  as  I  was  beginning  the  eighth,  I 
heard  a  crash,  and  the  next  moment  a  man  leaped  into  the 
room  through  the  broken  window. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  crash  startled  me  from  my  self-control.  The  house 
keeper  bent  toward  me  and  whispered, — 

"  Don't  be  excited.  It 's  Mr.  Rawj  ester, —  he  prefers 
to  come  in  sometimes  in  this  way.  It's  his  playfulness, 
ha !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  I  perceive,"  I  said  calmly.  "  It 's  the  unfettered  im 
pulse  of  a  lofty  soul  breaking  the  tyrannizing  bonds  of  cus 
tom."  And  I  turned  toward  him. 

He  had  never  once  looked  at  me.  He  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  fire,  which  set  off  the  herculean  breadth  of  his 
shoulders.  His  face  was  dark  and  expressive  ;  his  under 
jaw  squarely  formed,  and  remarkably  heavy.  I  was  struck 
with  his  remarkable  likeness  to  a  gorilla. 

As  he  absently  tied  the  poker  into  hard  knots  with  his 
nervous  fingers,  I  watched  him  with  some  interest.  Sud 
denly  he  turned  toward  me  :  — 

"  Do  you  think  I  'm  handsome,  young  woman  ?  " 

"Not  classically  beautiful,"  I  returned  calmly;  "but  you 
have,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  an  abstract  manliness^  — 


106  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

a  sincere  and  wholesome  barbarity  which,  involving  as  it 
does  the  naturalness  " —  But  I  stopped,  for  he  yawned  at 
that  moment,  —  an  action  which  singularly  developed  the 
immense  breadth  of  his  lower  jaw,  —  and  I  saw  he  had 
forgotten  me.  Presently  he  turned  to  the  houskeeper,  — 

"  Leave  us." 

The  old  woman  withdrew  with  a  curtsey. 

Mr.  Rawj ester  deliberately  turned  his  back  upon  me  and 
remained  silent  for  twenty  minutes.  I  drew  my  shawl  the 
more  closely  around  my  shoulders  and  closed  my  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  governess  ?  "  at  length  he  said. 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"  A  creature  who  teaches  geography,  arithmetic,  and  the 
use  of  the  globes  —  ha  !  —  a  wretched  remnant  of  femininity, 
—  a  skimp  pattern  of  girlhood  with  a  premature  flavor  of 
tea-leaves  and  morality.  Ugh  !  " 

I  bowed  my  head  silently. 

"  Listen  to  me,  girl !  "  he  said  sternly  ;  "  this  child  you 
have  come  to  teach  —  my  ward  —  is  not  legitimate.  She 
is  the  offspring  of  my  mistress,  —  a  common  harlot.  Ah  ! 
Miss  Mix,  what  do  you  think  of  me  now  ?  " 

"  I  admire,"  I  replied  calmly,  "  your  sincerity.  A  mawk 
ish  regard  for  delicacy  might  have  kept  this  disclosure  to 
yourself.  I  only  recognize  in  your  frankness  that  perfect 
community  of  thought  and  sentiment  which  should  exist 
between  original  natures." 

I  looked  up  ;  he  had  already  forgotten  my  presence,  and 
was  engaged  in  pulling  off  his  boots  and  coat.  This  done, 
he  sank  down  in  an  armchair  before  the  fire,  and  ran  the 
poker  wearily  through  his  hair.  I  could  not  help  pitying 
him. 

The  wind  howled  dismally  without,  and  the  rain  beat 
furiously  against  the  windows.  I  crept  toward  him  and 
seated  myself  on  a  low  stool  beside  his  chair. 

Presently  he  turned,  without  seeing  me,  and  placed  hi» 


MISS   MIX  107 

foot  absently  in  my  lap.  I  affected  not  to  notice  it.  But 
he  started  and  looked  down. 

"  You  here  yet  —  Carrothead  ?  Ah,  I  forgot.  Do  you 
speak  French  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Monsier." 

"  Taisez-vous  !  "  he  said  sharply,  with  singular  purity  of 
accent.  I  complied.  The  wind  moaned  fearfully  in  the 
chimney,  and  the  light  burned  dimly.  I  shuddered  in  spite 
of  myself.  "  Ah,  you  tremble,  girl !  " 

"  It  is  a  fearful  night." 

"  Fearful !  Call  you  this  fearful  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Look  ! 
you  wretched  little  atom,  look  !  "  and  he  dashed  forward, 
and,  leaping  out  of  the  window,  stood  like  a  statue  in  the 
pelting  storm,  with  folded  arms.  He  did  not  stay  long,  but 
in  a  few  minutes  returned  by  way  of  the  hall  chimney. 
I  saw  from  the  way  that  he  wiped  his  feet  on  my  dress  that 
he  had  again  forgotten  my  presence. 

"  You  are  a  governess.  What  can  you  teach  ?  "  he  asked, 
suddenly  and  fiercely  thrusting  his  face  in  mine. 

"  Manners !  "  I  replied  calmly. 

"  Ha !  teach  me  !  " 

"  You  mistake  yourself/'  I  said,  adjusting  my  mittens. 
"  Your  manners  require  not  the  artificial  restraint  of  so 
ciety.  You  are  radically  polite  ;  this  impetuosity  and 
ferociousness  is  simply  the  sincerity  which  is  the  basis  of  a 
proper  deportment.  Your  instincts  are  moral ;  your  better 
nature,  I  see,  is  religious.  As  St.  Paul  justly  remarks  — 
see  chap.  6,  8,  9,  and  10  "  — 

He  seized  a  heavy  candlestick,  and  threw  it  at  me.  I 
dodged  it  submissively  but  firmly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  remarked,  as  his  under  jaw  slowly  re 
laxed.  "  Excuse  me,  Miss  Mix  —  but  I  can't  stand  St 
Paul !  Enough  —  you  are  engaged." 


108  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  followed  the  housekeeper  as  she  led  the  way  timidly 
to  my  room.  As  we  passed  into  a  dark  hall  in  the  wing,  I 
noticed  that  it  was  closed  by  an  iron  gate  with  a  grating. 
Three  of  the  doors  on  the  corridor  were  likewise  grated. 
A  strange  noise,  as  of  shuffling  feet  and  the  howling  of 
infuriated  animals,  rang  through  the  hall.  Bidding  the 
housekeeper  good-night,  and  taking  the  candle,  I  entered 
my  bedchamber. 

I  took  off  my  dress,  and  putting  on  a  yellow  flannel 
nightgown,  which  I  could  not  help  feeling  did  not  agree 
with  my  complexion,  I  composed  myself  to  rest  by  reading 
Blair's  "Rhetoric-"  and  Paley's  "Moral  Philosophy."  I 
had  just  put  out  the  light,  when  I  heard  voices  in  the  cor 
ridor.  I  listened  attentively.  I  recognized  Mr.  Rawjester's 
stern  tones. 

"  Have  you  fed  No.  One  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  a  gruff  voice,  apparently  belonging  to  a 
domestic. 

"  How's  No.  Two  ?  " 

"  She's  a  little  off  her  feed,  just  now,  but  will  pick  up  in 
a  day  or  two." 

"And  No.  Three?" 

"  Perfectly  furious,  sir.  Her  tantrums  are  ungovern 
able." 

"  Hush ! " 

The  voices  died  away,  and  I  sank  into  a  fitful  slumber. 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  wandering  through  a  tropical  forest. 
Suddenly  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  gorilla  approaching  me.  As 
it  neared  me,  I  recognized  the  features  of  Mr.  Rawj  ester. 
He  held  his  hand  to  his  side  as  if  in  pain.  I  saw  that  he 
had  been  wounded.  He  recognized  me  and  called  me  by 
name,  but  at  the  same  moment  the  vision  changed  to  an 


MISS  MIX  109 

Ashantee  village,  where,  around  the  fire,  a  group  of  negroes 
were  dancing  and  participating  in  some  wild  Obi  festival. 
I  awoke  with  the  strain  still  ringing  in  my  ears. 

"  Hokee-pokee  wokee  fum  !  " 

Good  Heavens  !  could  I  be  dreaming  ?  I  heard  the 
voice  distinctly  on  the  floor  below,  and  smelt  something 
burning.  I  arose,  with  an  indistinct  presentiment  of  evil, 
and  hastily  putting  some  cotton  in  my  ears  and  tying  a 
towel  about  my  head,  I  wrapped  myself  in  a  shawl  and 
rushed  downstairs.  The  door  of  Mr.  Eawjester's  room  was 
open.  I  entered. 

Mr.  Rawj ester  lay  apparently  in  a  deep  slumber,  from 
which  even  the  clouds  of  smoke  that  came  from  the  burn 
ing  curtains  of  his  bed  could  not  rouse  him.  Around  the 
room  a  large  and  powerful  negress,  scantily  attired,  with  her 
head  adorned  with  feathers,  was  dancing  wildly,  accompany 
ing  herself  with  bone  castanets.  It  looked  like  some  terrible 
fetich. 

I  did  not  lose  my  calmness.  After  firmly  emptying  the 
pitcher,  basin,  and  slop-jar  on  the  burning  bed,  I  proceeded 
cautiously  to  the  garden,  and  returning  with  the  garden  en 
gine,  I  directed  a  small  stream  at  Mr.  Rawjester. 

At  my  entrance  the  gigantic  negress  fled.  Mr.  Rawjester 
yawned  and  woke.  I  explained  to  him,  as  he  rose  dripping 
from  the  bed,  the  reason  of  my  presence.  He  did  not  seem 
to  be  excited,  alarmed,  or  discomposed.  He  gazed  at  me 
curiously. 

"  So  you  risked  your  life  to  save  mine,  eh  ?  you  canary- 
colored  teacher  of  infants." 

I  blushed  modestly,  and  drew  my  shawl  tightly  over 
my  yellow  flannel  nightgown. 

^  You  love  me,  Mary  Jane, — don't  deny  it!  This 
tremoling  shows  it !  "  He  drew  me  closely  toward  him. 
and  said,  with  his  deep  voice  tenderly  modulated,  — 

"  How  7s  her  pooty  tootens,  —  did  she  get  her  'ittle 
tootens  wet,  —  b'ess  her  ?  " 


110  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

I  understood  his  allusion  to  my  feet.  I  glanced  down 
and  saw  that  in  my  hurry  I  had  put  on  a  pair  of  his  old 
india-rubbers.  My  feet  were  not  small  or  pretty,  and  the 
addition  did  not  add  to  their  beauty. 

"  Let  me  go,  sir,"  I  remarked  quietly.  "  This  is  en 
tirely  improper ;  it  sets  a  bad  example  for  your  child." 
And  I  firmly  but  gently  extricated  myself  from  his  grasp. 
I  approached  the  door.  He  seemed  for  a  moment  buried 
in  deep  thought. 

"  You  say  this  was  a  negress  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Humph,  Number  One,  I  suppose." 

"  Who  is  Number  One,  sir  ?  " 

"  My  first,"  he  remarked,  with  a  significant  and  sarcas 
tic  smile.  Then,  relapsing  into  his  old  manner,  he  threw 
his  boots  at  my  head,  and  bade  me  begone.  I  withdrew 
calmly. 

CHAPTER  V 

My  pupil  was  a  bright  little  girl,  who  spoke  French 
with  a  perfect  accent.  Her  mother  had  been  a  French 
ballet-dancer,  which  probably  accounted  for  it.  Although 
she  was  only  six  years  old,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  she 
had  been  several  times  in  love.  She  once  said  to  me,  — 

"  Miss  Mix,  did  you  ever  have  the  grande  passion  ?  Did 
you  ever  feel  a  fluttering  here  ?  "  and  she  placed  her  hand 
upon  her  small  chest,  and  sighed  quaintly ;  "a  kind  of 
distaste  for  bonbons  and  caramels,  when  the  world  seemed 
as  tasteless  and  hollow  as  a  broken  cordial  drop  ?  " 

"  Then  you  have  felt  it,  Nina  ?  "  I  said  quietly. 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes.  There  was  Buttons,  —  that  was  our 
page,  you  know,  —  I  loved  him  dearly,  but  papa  sent  him 
etway.  Then  there  was  Dick,  the  groom  ;  but  he  laughed 
at  me,  and  I  suffered  misery  !  "  and  she  struck  a  tragic 


MISS   MIX  111 

French  attitude.  "  There  is  to  be  company  here  to-mor 
row,"  she  added,  rattling  on  with  childish  naivete",  ;<  and 
papa's  sweetheart  —  Blanche  Marahout  —  is  to  be  here. 
You  know  they  say  she  is  to  be  my  mamma.'* 

What  thrill  was  this  shot  through  me  ?  But  I  rose 
calmly,  and  administering  a  slight  correction  to  the  child, 
left  the  apartment. 

Blunderbore  House,  for  the  next  week,  was  the  scene  of 
gayety  and  merriment.  That  portion  of  the  mansion  closed 
with  a  grating  was  walled  up,  and  the  midnight  shrieks  no 
longer  troubled  me. 

But  I  felt  more  keenly  the  degradation  of  my  situation. 
I  was  obliged  to  help  Lady  Blanche  at  her  toilet  and  help 
her  to  look  beautiful.  For  what  ?  To  captivate  him  ? 
Oh  —  no,  no,  —  but  why  this  sudden  thrill  and  faintness  ? 
Did  he  really  love  her  ?  I  had  seen  him  pinch  and  swear 
at  her.  But  I  reflected  that  he  had  thrown  a  candlestick 
at  my  head,  and  my  foolish  heart  was  reassured. 

It  was  a  night  of  festivity,  when  a  sudden  message 
obliged  Mr.  Rawj  ester  to  leave  his  guests  for  a  few  hours. 
"  Make  yourselves  merry,  idiots,"  he  added,  under  his 
breath,  as  he  passed  me.  The  door  closed  and  he  was 
gone. 

A  half-hour  passed.  In  the  midst  of  the  dancing  a 
shriek  was  heard,  and  out  of  the  swaying  crowd  of  fainting 
women  and  excited  men  a  wild  figure  strode  into  the  room. 
One  glance  showed  it  to  be  a  highwayman,  heavily  armed, 
holding  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 

"  Let  no  one  pass  out  of  this  room  !  "  he  said,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  "The  house  is  surrounded  and  you  cannot 
escape.  The  first  one  who  crosses  yonder  threshold  will 
be  shot  like  a  dog.  Gentlemen,  I  '11  trouble  you  to  ap 
proach  in  single  file,  and  hand  me  your  purses  and  watches.'* 

Finding  resistance  useless,  the  order  was  ungraciousiv 
obeyed. 


112  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"  Now,  ladies,  please  to  pass  up  your  jewelry  and  trin 
kets." 

This  order  was  still  more  ungraciously  complied  with. 
As  Blanche  handed  to  the  bandit  captain  her  bracelet,  she 
endeavored  to  conceal  a  diamond  necklace,  the  gift  of  Mr. 
Rawj ester,  in  her  bosom.  But,  with  a  demoniac  grin,  the 
powerful  brute  tore  it  from  its  concealment,  and  administer 
ing  a  hearty  box  on  the  ear  of  the  young  girl,  flung  her 
aside. 

It  was  now  my  turn.  With  a  beating  heart  I  made  my 
way  to  the  robber  chieftain,  and  sank  at  his  feet.  "  Oh,  sir, 
I  am  nothing  but  a  poor  governess,  pray  let  me  go." 

"  Oho  !  A  governess  ?  Give  me  your  last  month's 
Jvages,  then.  Give  me  what  you  have  stolen  from  your 
master !  "  and  he  laughed  fiendishly. 

I  gazed  at  him  quietly,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  :  "  I 
have  stolen  nothing  from  you,  Mr.  Rawjester !  " 

"Ah,  discovered  !  Hush  !  listen,  girl !  "  he  hissed,  in  a 
fierce  whisper ;  "  utter  a  syllable  to  frustrate  my  plans,  and 
you  die  ;  aid  me,  and  "  —  But  he  was  gone. 

In  a  few  moments  the  party,  with  the  exception  of  my 
self,  were  gagged  and  locked  in  the  cellar.  The  next  mo 
ment  torches  were  applied  to  the  rich  hangings,  and  the 
house  was  in  flames.  I  felt  a  strong  hand  seize  me,  and 
bear  me  out  in  the  open  air  and  place  me  up  on  the  hill 
side,  where  I  could  overlook  the  burning  mansion.  It  was 
Mr.  Kawj ester. 

"  Burn  !  "  he  said,  as  he  shook  his  fist  at  the  flames. 
Then  sinking  on  his  knees  before  me,  he  said  hurriedly,  — 

"  Mary  Jane,  I  love  you ;  the  obstacles  to  our  union  are 
or  will  be  soon  removed.  In  yonder  mansion  were  con 
fined  my  three  crazy  wives.  One  of  them,  as  you  know, 
attempted  to  kill  me  !  Ha  !  this  is  vengeance  !  But  will 
you  be  mine  ?  " 

I  fell,  without  a  word,  upon  his  neck. 


ME.  MIDSHIPMAN  BEEEZY 

A  NAVAL  OFFICER 
BY    CAPTAIN    M-KRY-T,    B.  N. 

CHAPTER  I 

MY  father  was  a  north-country  surgeon.  He  had  re 
tired,  a  widower,  from  her  Majesty's  navy  many  years 
before,  and  had  a  small  practice  in  his  native  village. 
When  I  was  seven  years  old  he  employed  me  to  carry 
medicines  to  his  patients.  Being  of  a  lively  disposition, 
I  sometimes  amused  myself,  during  my  daily  rounds,  by 
mixing  the  contents  of  the  different  phials.  Although  I 
had  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  general  result  of  this  prac 
tice  was  beneficial,  yet,  as  the  death  of  a  consumptive 
curate  followed  the  addition  of  a  strong  mercurial  lotion  tc 
his  expectorant,  my  father  concluded  to  withdraw  me  from 
the  profession  and  send  me  to  school. 

Grubbins,  the  schoolmaster,  was  a  tyrant,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  my  impetuous  and  self-willed  nature  re 
belled  against  his  authority.  I  soon  began  to  form  plans 
of  revenge.  In  this  I  was  assisted  by  Tom  Snaffle,  —  a 
schoolfellow.  One  day  Tom  suggested,  — 

"Suppose  we  blow  him  up.  I've  got  two  pounds  of 
powder ! " 

"No,  that 's  too  noisy,"  I  replied. 

Tom  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  again  spoke :  — 

"You  remember  how  you  flattened  out  the  curate,  Pills > 
Couldn't  you  give  Grubbins  something  —  something  to 
make  him  leathery  sick  —  eh  ?  " 


/I 4  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

A.  flash  of  inspiration  crossed  my  mind.  I  went  to  thfe 
«hop  of  the  village  apothecary.  He  knew  me;  I  had  often 
purchased  vitriol,  which  1  poured  into  Grubbins's  inkstand 
to  corrode  his  pens  and  burn  up  his  coat-tail,  on  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  wiping  them.  I  boldly  asked  for  an 
ounce  of  chloroform.  The  young  apothecary  winked  and 
handed  me  the  bottle. 

It  was   Grubbins's   custom   to   throw   his   handkerchief 
over  his  head,  recline  in  his  chair,  and  take  a  short  nap 
during  recess.      Watching   my   opportunity,    as  he   dozed, 
I  managed  to  slip  his  handkerchief  from  his  face  and  sub 
stitute   my  own,    moistened   with   chloroform.      In   a 
minutes    he   was    insensible.      Tom    and    I    then    (1 
shaved  his  head,  beard,  and  eyebrows,  blackened  his 
with  a  mixture  of  vitriol  and  burnt  cork,  and  fled.      Thei;. 
was  a  row  and  scandal  the  next  day.      My  father  always 
excused  me  by  asserting  that  Grubbins  had  got  drunk,  — 
but  somehow  found  it  convenient  to  procure  me  an  appoint 
ment  in  her  Majesty's  navy  at  an  early  day. 

CHAPTER  II 

An  official  letter,  with  the  Admiralty  seal,  informed 
me  that  I  was  expected  to  join  H.  M.  ship  Belcher,  Cap 
tain  Boltrope,  at  Portsmouth,  without  delay.  In  a  few 
days  I  presented  myself  to  a  tall,  stern-visaged  man,  who 
was  slowly  pacing  the  leeward  side  of  the  quarter-deck. 
As  I  touched  my  hat  he  eyed  me  sternly :  — 

"So  ho!  Another  young  suckling.  The  service  is 
going  to  the  devil.  Nothing  but  babes  in  the  cockpit  and 
grannies  in  the  board.  Boatswain's  mate,  pass  the  word 
for  Mr.  Cheek !  " 

Mr.  Cheek,  the  steward,  appeared  and  touched  his  hat. 

"  Introduce  Mr.  Breezy  to  the  young  gentlemen.  Stop! 
Where's  Mr.  Swizzle1/" 


MR.   MIDSHIPMAN   BREEZY  115 

"At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"Where's  Mr.  Lankey?" 

"At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"Mr.  Briggs?" 

"Masthead,  too,  sir." 

"  And  the  rest  of  the  young  gentlemen  1 "  roared  the 
enraged  officer. 

"All  masthead,  sir." 

"Ah!"  said  Captain  Boltrope,  as  he  smiled  grimly, 
"  under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Breezy,  you  had  better  go 
to  the  masthead  too." 


CHAPTER  III 

At  the  masthead  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  young- 
jters  of  about  my  own  age,  one  of  whom  informed  me  that 
he  had  been  there  three  hundred  and  thirty-two  days  out 
of  the  year. 

"  In  rough  weather,  when  the  old  cock  is  out  of  sorts, 
you  know,  we  never  come  down,"  added  a  young  gentle 
man  of  nine  years,  with  a  dirk  nearly  as  long  as  himself, 
who  had  been  introduced  to  me  as  Mr.  Briggs.  "  By  the 
way,  Pills,"  he  continued,  "how  did  you  come  to  omit  giv 
ing  the  captain  a  naval  salute  ?  " 

"Why,  I  touched  my  hat,"  I  said  innocently. 

"Yes,  but  that  isn't  enough,  you  know.  That  will  do 
very  well  at  other  times.  He  expects  the  naval  salute 
when  you  first  come  on  board  —  greeny !  " 

I  began  to  feel  alarmed,  and  begged  him  to  explain. 

"Why,  you  see,  after  touching  your  hat,  you  should 
have  touched  him  lightly  with  your  forefinger  in  his  waist' 
coat,  so,  and  asked,  '  How  's  his  nibs?  '  —  you  see1?  " 

"How  's  his  nibs?  "  I  repeated. 

"Exactly.      He   would  have  drawn   back  a   little,    and 


116  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

then  you  should  have  repeated  the  salute,  remarking, 
*  How  's  his  royal  nibs  1 '  asking  cautiously  after  his  wife 
and  family,  and  requesting  to  be  introduced  to  the  gun 
ner's  daughter." 

"The  gunner's  daughter?" 

"The  same;  you  know  she  takes  care  of  us  young  gen 
tlemen;  now  don't  forget,  Pillsy!" 

When  we  were  called  down  to  the  deck  I  thought  it  a 
good  chance  to  profit  by  this  instruction.  I  approached 
Captain  Boltrope  and  repeated  the  salute  without  conscien* 
tiously  omitting  a  single  detail.  He  remained  for  a  mo 
ment  livid  and  speechless.  At  length  he  gasped  out,  — 

"  Boatswain's  mate !  " 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  I  asked  tremulously,  "I  should 
like  to  be  introduced  to  the  gunner's  daughter! " 

"  Oh,  very  good,  sir ! "  screamed  Captain  Boltrope,  rub 
bing  his  hands  and  absolutely  capering  about  the  deck  with 
rage.  "  Oh,  d — n  you !  Of  course  you  shall !  Oh,  ho !  the 
gunner's  daughter!  Oh,  h — 11!  this  is  too  much!  Boat 
swain's  mate!"  Before  I  well  knew  where  I  was,  I  was 
seized,  borne  to  an  eight- pounder,  tied  upon  it,  and  flogged ! 

CHAPTER  IV 

As  we  sat  together  in  the  cockpit,  picking  the  weevils 
out  of  our  biscuit,  Briggs  consoled  me  for  my  late  mishap, 
adding  that  the  "naval  salute,"  as  a  custom,  seemed  just 
then  to  be  honored  more  in  the  breach  than  the  obser 
vance.  I  joined  in  the  hilarity  occasioned  by  the  witti 
cism,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  were  all  friends.  Pres 
ently  Swizzle  turned  to  me :  — 

"We  have  just  been  planning  how  to  confiscate  a  keg 
of  claret,  which  Nips,  the  purser,  keeps  under  his  bunk. 
The  old  nipcheese  lies  there  drunk  half  the  day,  and 
there  's  no  getting  at  it." 


MR.   MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY  117 

*Let  's  get  beneath  the  stateroom  and  bore  through  the 
deck,  and  so  tap  it,"  said  Lankey. 

The  proposition  was  received  with  a  shout  of  applause. 
A  long  ha  If- inch  auger  and  bit  was  procured  from  Chips, 
the  carpenter's  mate,  and  Swizzle,  after  a  careful  examina 
tion  of  the  timbers  beneath  the  wardroom,  commenced 
operations.  The  auger  at  last  disappeared,  when  suddenly 
there  was  a  slight  disturbance  on  the  deck  above.  Swizzle 
withdrew  the  auger  hurriedly;  from  its  point  a  few  bright 
red  drops  trickled. 

"  Huzza !  send  her  up  again !  "  cried  Lankey. 

The  auger  was  again  applied.  This  time  a  shriek  was 
heard  from  the  purser's  cabin.  Instantly  the  light  was 
doused,  and  the  party  retreated  hurriedly  to  the  cockpit. 
A  sound  of  snoring  was  heard  as  the  sentry  stuck  his  head 
into  the  door.  "All  right,  sir,"  he  replied  in  answer  to 
the  voice  of  the  officer  of  the  deck. 

The  next  morning  we  heard  that  Xips  was  in  the  sur 
geon's  hands,  with  a  bad  wound  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his 
leg,  and  that  the  auger  had  not  struck  claret. 


CHAPTER  V 

"Now,  Pills,  you'll  have  a  chance  to  smell  powder," 
said  Briggs  as  he  entered  the  cockpit  and  buckled  around 
his  waist  an  enormous  cutlass.  "We  have  just  sighted  a 
French  ship." 

We  went  on  deck.  Captain  Boltrope  grinned  as  we 
touched  our  hats.  He  hated  the  purser.  "Come,  young 
gentlemen,  if  you  're  boring  for  French  claret,  yonder  's  a 
good  quality.  Mind  your  con,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to 
the  quartermaster,  who  was  grinning. 

The  ship  was  already  cleared  for  action.  The  men,  in 
their  eagerness,  had  started  the  coffee  from  the  tubs  and 


118  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

filled  them  with  shot.  Presently  the  Frenchman  yawed, 
and  a  shot  from  a  long  thirty-two  came  skipping  over  the 
water.  It  killed  the  quartermaster  and  took  off  both  of 
Lankey's  legs.  "Tell  the  purser  our  account  is  squared," 
said  the  dying  boy,  with  a  feeble  smile. 

The  fight  raged  fiercely  for  two  hours.  I  remember 
killing  the  French  admiral,  as  we  boarded,  but  on  looking 
around  for  Briggs,  after  the  smoke  had  cleared  aM7ay,  I 
was  intensely  amused  at  witnessing  the  following  novel 
sight : 

Briggs  had  pinned  the  French  captain  against  the  mast 
with  his  cutlass,  and  was  now  engaged,  \vith  all  the  hilar 
ity  of  youth,  in  pulling  the  Captain's  coat-tails  between 
his  legs,  in  imitation  of  a  dancing- jack.  As  the  French 
man  lifted  his  legs  and  arms,  at  each  jerk  of  Briggs 's,  I 
could  not  help  participating  in  the  general  mirth. 

"You  young  devil,  what  are  you  doing?"  said  a  stifled 
voice  behind  me.  I  looked  up  and  beheld  Captain  Bolt- 
rope,  endeavoring  to  calm  his  stern  features,  but  the  twitch 
ing  around  his  mouth  betrayed  his  intense  enjoyment  of 
the  scene.  "  Go  to  the  masthead  —  up  with  you,  sir !  " 
he  repeated  sternly  to  Briggs. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  coolly  preparing  to  mount 
the  shrouds.  "  Good- by,  Johnny  Crapaud.  Humph !  "  he 
added,  in  a  tone  intended  for  my  ear,  "a  pretty  wav  to 
treat  a  hero.  The  service  is  going  to  the  devil !  " 

I  thought  so  too. 

CHAPTER  VI 

We  were  ordered  to  the  West  Indies.  Although  Cap 
tain  Boltrope's  manner  toward  me  was  still  severe,  and 
even  harsh,  I  understood  that  my  name  had  been  favorably 
mentioned  in  the  dispatches. 

Reader,  were  you  ever  at  Jamaica?     If  so,  you  remem- 


MR.   MIDSHIPMAN   BREEZY  119 

her  the  negresses,  the  oranges,  Port  Royal  Tom  —  the 
yellow  fever.  After  being  two  weeks  at  the  station,  I  was 
taken  sick  of  the  fever.  In  a  month  I  was  delirious. 
During  my  paroxysms,  I  had  a  wild  distempered  dream  of 
a  stern  face  bending  anxiously  over  my  pillow,  a  rough 
hand  smoothing  my  hair,  and  a  kind  voice  saying :  — 

"B'ess  his  'ittle  heart!  Did  he  have  the  naughtt 
fever  ? "  This  face  seemed  again  changed  to  the  wel] 
known  stern  features  of  Captain  Boltrope. 

When  I  was  convalescent,  a  packet  edged  in  black  was 
put  in  my  hand.  It  contained  the  news  of  my  father's 
death,  and  a  sealed  letter  which  he  had  requested  to  be 
given  to  me  on  his  decease.  I  opened  it  tremblingly.  It 
read  thus :  — 

MY  DEAR  BOY,  —  I  regret  to  inform  you  that  in  all 
probability  you  are  not  my  son.  Your  mother,  I  am 
grieved  to  say,  was  a  highly  improper  person.  Who  your 
father  may  be,  I  really  cannot  say,  but  perhaps  the  Honor 
able  Henry  Boltrope,  Captain  R.  N.,  may  be  able  to  in 
form  you.  Circumstances  over  which  I  have  no  control 
have  deferred  this  important  disclosure. 

YOUR  STRICKEN  PARENT. 

And  so  Captain  Boltrope  was  my  father.  Heavens! 
Was  it  a  dream?  I  recalled  his  stern  manner,  his  obser 
vant  eye,  his  ill-concealed  uneasiness  when  in  my  presence. 
I  longed  to  embrace  him.  Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  rushed 
in  my  scanty  apparel  to  the  deck,  where  Captain  Boltrope 
was  just  then  engaged  in  receiving  the  Governor's  wife 
and  daughter.  The  ladies  shrieked;  the  youngest,  a  beau 
tiful  girl,  blushed  deeply.  Heeding  them  not,  I  sank  at 
his  feet,  and,  embracing  them,  cried,  — 

"My  father!" 

"  Chuck  him  overboard !  "  roared  Captain  Boltrope. 


120  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"Stay,"  pleaded  the  soft  voice  of  Clara  Maitland,  the 
Governor's  daughter. 

"Shave  his  head!  he  's  a  wretched  lunatic! "  continued 
Captain  Boltrope,  while  his  voice  trembled  with  excite 
ment. 

"No,  let  me  nurse  and  take  care  of  him,"  said  the 
lovely  girl,  blushing  as  she  spoke.  "Mamma,  can't  we 
take  him  home  1  " 

The  daughter's  pleading  was  not  without  effect.  In  the 
meantime  I  had  fainted.  When  I  recovered  my  senses  I 
found  myself  in  Governor  Maitland 's  mansion, 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  reader  will  guess  what  followed.  I  fell  deeply  in 
love  with  Clara  Maitland,  to  whom  I  confided  the  secret 
of  my  birth.  The  generous  girl  asserted  that  she  had 
detected  the  superiority  of  my  manner  at  once.  We 
plighted  our  troth,  and  resolved  to  wait  upon  events. 

Briggs  called  to  see  me  a  few  days  afterward.  He  said 
that  the  purser  had  insulted  the  whole  cockpit,  and  all  the 
midshipmen  had  called  him  out.  But  he  added  thought 
fully:  "I  don't  see  how  we  can  arrange  the  duel.  You 
see  there  are  six  of  us  to  fight  him." 

"Very  easily,"  I  replied.  "Let  your  fellows  all  stand 
in  a  row,  and  take  his  fire;  that,  you  see,  gives  him  six 
chances  to  one,  and  he  must  be  a  bad  shot  if  he  can't  hit 
one  of  you;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  you  see,  he  gets  a 
volley  from  you  six,  and  one  of  you  '11  be  certain  to  fetch 
him." 

"  Exactly ; "  and  away  Briggs  went,  but  soon  returned 
to  say  that  the  purser  had  declined,  — "like  a  d — d  cow 
ard,"  he  added. 

But  the  news  of  the  sudden  and  serious  illness  of  Cap- 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN   BREEZY  121 

tain  Boltrope  put  off  the  duel.  I  hastened  to  his  bedside, 
but  too  late,  —  an  hour  previous  he  had  given  up  the 
ghost. 

I  resolved  to  return  to  England.  I  made  known  the 
secret  of  my  birth,  and  exhibited  my  adopted  father's  letter 
to  Lady  Maitland,  who  at  once  suggested  my  marriage 
with  her  daughter,  before  I  returned  to  claim  the  property. 
We  were  married,  and  took  our  departure  next  day. 

I  made  no  delay  in  posting  at  once,  in  company  with 
my  wife  and  my  friend  Briggs,  to  my  native  village. 
Judge  of  my  horror  and  surprise  when  my  late  adopted 
father  came  out  of  his  shop  to  welcome  me. 

"Then  you  are  not  dead! "  I  gasped. 

"No,  my  dear  boy." 

"And  this  letter?" 

My  father  —  as  I  must  still  call  him  —  glanced  on  the 
paper,  and  pronounced  it  a  forgery.  Briggs  roared  with 
laughter.  I  turned  to  him  and  demanded  an  explanation. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  Greeny,  it 's  all  a  joke,  — a  mid 
shipman's  joke !  " 

"But"  — I  asked. 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  You  've  got  a  good  wife,  —  be  satis 
fied." 

I  turned  to  Clara,  and  was  satisfied.  Although  Mrs. 
Maitland  never  forgave  me,  the  jolly  old  Governor  laughed 
heartily  over  the  joke,  and  so  well  used  his  influence  that 
I  soon  became,  dear  reader,  Admiral  Breezy,  K.  C.  B. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE;  OR,  "ENTIKE" 

A  MUSCULAR  NOVEL 
BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  SWORD  AND  GUN  " 

CHAPTER  I 

REPANDIROSTRUM      INCURVICERVICUM    PECUS.'9 


A  DINGY,  swashy,  splashy  afternoon  in  October;  a 
school-yard  filled  with  a  mob  of  riotous  boys.  A  lot  of 
us  standing  outside. 

Suddenly  came  a  dull,  crashing  sound  from  the  school 
room.  At  the  ominous  interruption  I  shuddered  involun 
tarily,  and  called  to  Smithsye,  — 

"What  's  up,  Smithums?  " 

"Guy  's  cleaning  out  the  fourth  form,"  he  replied. 

At  the  same  moment  George  de  Coverly  passed  me, 
holding  his  nose,  from  whence  the  bright  Norman  blood 
streamed  redly.  To  him  the  plebeian  Smithsye  laugh 
ingly,  — 

"Cully!  how's  his  nibs?" 

I  pushed  the  door  of  the  schoolroom  open.  There  are 
some  spectacles  which  a  man  never  forgets.  The  burning 
of  Troy  probably  seemed  a  large-sized  conflagration  to  the 
pious  ^tEneas,  and  made  an  impression  on  him  which  he 
carried  away  with  the  feeble  Anchises. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room,  lightly  brandishing  the  pis 
ton-rod  of  a  steam-engine,  stood  Guy  Heavystone  alone 
I  say  alone,  for  the  pile  of  small  boys  on  the  floor  in  thfc 
corner  could  hardly  be  called  company. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE;  OR,  "ENTIRE"  123 

I  will  try  and  sketch  him  for  the  reader.  Guy  Heavy- 
stone  was  then  only  fifteen.  His  broad,  deep  chest,  his 
sinewy  and  quivering  flank,  his  straight  pastern,  showed 
"him  to  be  a  thoroughbred.  Perhaps  he  was  a  trifle  heavy 
in  the  fetlock,  but  he  held  his  head  haughtily  erect.  His 
eyes  were  glittering  but  pitiless.  There  was  a  sternness 
about  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  —  the  old  Heayystone 
look,  —  a  sternness  heightened,  perhaps,  by  the  snaffle-bit 
which,  in  one  of  his  strange  freaks,  he  wore  in  his  mouth 
to  curb  his  occasional  ferocity.  His  dress  was  well  adapted 
to  his  square-set  and  herculean  frame.  A  striped  knit 
undershirt,  close-fitting  striped  tights,  and  a  few  spangles 
set  off  his  figure ;  a  neat  Glengarry  cap  adorned  his  head. 
On  it  was  displayed  the  Heavystone  crest,  a  cock  regar 
dant  on  a  dunghill  or,  and  the  motto,  "Devil  a  better! " 

I  thought  of  Horatius  on  the  bridge,  of  Hector  before 
the  walls.  I  always  make  it  a  point  to  think  of  something 
classical  at  such  times. 

He  saw  me,  and  his  sternness  partly  relaxed.  Some 
thing  like  a  smile  struggled  through  his  grim  lineaments. 
It  was  like  looking  on  the  Jungfrau  after  having  seen 
Mont  Blanc,  —  a  trifle,  only  a  trifle  less  sublime  and  awful. 
Resting  his  hand  lightly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  head 
master,  who  shuddered  and  collapsed  under  his  touch,  he 
strode  toward  me. 

His  walk  was  peculiar.  You  could  not  call  it  a  stride. 
It  was  like  the  "  crest- tossing  Bellerophon,"  —  a  kind  of 
prancing  gait.  Guy  Heavystone  pranced  toward  me. 


124  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  II 

"Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  the  garden  gate, 
A-combing  his  milk-white  steed." 

It  was  the  winter  of  186-  when  I  next  met  Guy  Heavy- 
stone.  He  had  left  the  university  and  had  entered  the 
79th  "Heavies."  "I  have  exchanged  the  gown  for  the 
sword,  you  see,"  he  said,  grasping  my  hand,  and  fracturing 
the  bones  of  my  little  finger,  as  he  shook  it. 

I  gazed  at  him  with  unmixed  admiration.  He  was 
squarer,  sterner,  and  in  every  way  smarter  and  more  re 
markable  than  ever.  I  began  to  feel  toward  this  man  as 
Phalaster  felt  towards  Phyrgino,  as  somebody  must  have 
felt  toward  Archididasculus,  as  Boswell  felt  toward  John 
son. 

"Come  into  my  den,"  he  said;  and  lifting  me  gently  by 
the  seat  of  my  pantaloons  he  carried  me  upstairs  and 
deposited  me,  before  I  could  apologize,  on  the  sofa.  I 
looked  around  the  room.  It  was  a  bachelor's  apartment, 
characteristically  furnished  in  the  taste  of  the  proprietor. 
A  few  claymores  and  battleaxes  were  ranged  against  the 
wall,  and  a  culverin,  captured  by  Sir  Ralph  Heavystone, 
occupied  the  corner,  the  other  end  of  the  room  being  taken 
up  by  a  light  battery.  Foils,  boxing-gloves,  saddles,  and 
fishing-poles  lay  around  carelessly.  A  small  pile  of  billets- 
doux  lay  upon  a  silver  salver.  The  man  was  not  an  an 
chorite,  nor  yet  a  Sir  Galahad. 

I  never  could  tell  what  Guy  thought  of  women.  "Poor 
little  beasts,"  he  would  often  say  when  the  conversation 
turned  on  any  of  his  fresh  conquests.  Then,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  marble  brow,  the  old  look  of  stern  fixedness 
of  purpose  and  unflinching  severity  would  straighten  the 
lines  of  his  mouth,  and  he  would  mutter,  half  to  himself, 
"S'death!" 


GUY   HEAVYSTONE,    OR,   "ENTIRE"  125 

"Come  with  me  to  Heavystone  Grange.  The  Exmoor 
hounds  throw  off  to-morrow.  I  '11  give  you  a  mount,"  he 
said,  as  he  amused  himself  by  rolling  up  a  silver  candle 
stick  between  his  fingers.  "You  shall  have  Cleopatra. 
But  stay,"  he  added  thoughtfully;  "now  I  remember,  I 
ordered  Cleopatra  to  be  shot  this  morning." 

"And  why?"  I  queried. 

"  She  threw  her  rider  yesterday  and  fell  on  him  "  — 

"And  killed  him?" 

"No.  That 's  the  reason  why  I  have  ordered  her  to  be 
•shot.  I  keep  no  animals  that  are  not  dangerous  —  I 
should  add  —  deadly  !  "  He  hissed  the  last  sentence  be 
tween  his  teeth,  and  a  gloomy  frown  descended  over  his 
calm  brow. 

I  affected  to  turn  over  the  tradesmen's  bills  that  lay  on 
the  table,  for,  like  all  of  the  Heavystone  race,  Guy  seldom 
paid  cash,  and  said,  — 

"You  remind  me  of  the  time  when  Leonidas  "  — 

"Oh,  bother  Leonidas  and  your  classical  allusions. 
Come!" 

We  descended  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  III 

"  He  carries  weight,  he  rides  a  race, 
'T  is  for  a  thousand  pound." 

"There  is  Flora  Billingsgate,  the  greatest  coquette  and 
hardest  rider  in  the  country,"  said  my  companion,  Ralph 
Mortmain,  as  we  stood  upon  Dingleby  Common  before  the 
meet. 

I  looked  up  and  beheld  Guy  Heavystone  bending  haugh 
tily  over  the  saddle,  as  he  addressed  a  beautiful  brunette. 
She  was  indeed  a  splendidly  groomed  and  high-spirited 
woman.  We  were  near  enough  to  overhear  the  following 


126  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

conversation,  which  any  high-toned  reader  will  recognize 
as  the  common  and  natural  expression  of  the  higher  classes. 

"  When  Diana  takes  the  field  the  chase  is  not  wholly  con 
fined  to  objects  feras  naturae,"  said  Guy,  darting  a  signifi 
cant  glance  at  his  companion.  Mora  did  not  shrink  either 
from  the  glance  or  the  meaning  implied  in  the  sarcasm. 

"If  I  were  looking  for  an  Endymion,  now,"  —  she  said 
archly,  as  she  playfully  cantered  over  a  few  hounds  and 
leaped  a  five-barred  gate. 

Guy  whispered  a  few  words,  inaudible  to  the  rest  of  the 
party,  and  curveting  slightly,  cleverly  cleared  two  of  the 
huntsmen  in  a  flying  leap,  galloped  up  the  front  steps  of 
the  mansion,  and,  dashing  at  full  speed  through  the  hall, 
leaped  through  the  drawing-room  window  and  rejoined  me, 
languidly,  on  the  lawn. 

"Be  careful  of  Flora  Billingsgate,"  he  said  to  me,  in 
low  stern  tones,  while  his  pitiless  eye  shot  a  baleful  fire. 
"Gardez-vous!" 

"Gnothi  seauton,"  I  replied  calmly,  not  wishing  to 
appear  to  be  behind  him  in  perception  or  verbal  felicity. 

Guy  started  off  in  high  spirits.  He  was  well  carried. 
He  and  the  first  whip,  a  ten-stone  man,  were  head  and 
head  at  the  last  fence,  while  the  hounds  were  rolling  over 
their  fox  a  hundred  yards  farther  in  the  open. 

But  an  unexpected  circumstance  occurred.  Coming 
back,  his  chestnut  mare  refused  a  ten-foot  wall.  She 
reared  and  fell  backward.  Again  he  led  her  up  to  it 
lightly ;  again  she  refused,  falling  heavily  from  the  coping. 
Guy  started  to  his  feet.  The  old  pitiless  fire  shone  in  his 
eyes;  the  old  stern  look  settled  around  his  mouth.  Seiz 
ing  the  mare  by  the  tail  and  mane  he  threw  her  over  the 
wall.  She  landed  twenty  feet  on  the  other  side,  erecf 
and  trembling.  Lightly  leaping  the  same  obstacle  himself, 
he  remounted  her.  She  did  not  refuse  the  wall  the  next 
time. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE;    OK,  "ENTIRE"  127 

CHAPTER  IV 

"  He  holds  him  by  his  glittering  eye." 

Guy  was  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  cock-shooting.  So 
Kalph  Mortmain  told  me,  and  also  that  the  match  between 
Mary  Brandagee  and  Guy  had  been  broken  off  by  Flora 
Billingsgate.  "I  don't  like  those  Billingsgates,"  said 
"Ralph,  "they're  a  bad  stock.  Her  father,  Smithfield  dt 
Billingsgate,  had  an  unpleasant  way  of  turning  up  the 
knave  from  the  bottom  of  the  pack.  But  nous  verrons; 
let  us  go  and  see  Guy." 

The  next  morning  we  started  for  Fin-ma-Coul's  Cross 
ing.  When  I  reached  the  shooting-box,  where  Guy  was 
entertaining  a  select  company  of  friends,  Flora  Billings 
gate  greeted  me  with  a  saucy  smile. 

Guy  was  even  squarer  and  sterner  than  ever.  His  gusts 
of  passion  were  more  frequent,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  could  keep  an  able-bodied  servant  in  his  family. 
His  present  retainers  were  more  or  less  maimed  from  ex 
posure  to  the  fury  of  their  master.  There  was  a  strange 
cynicism,  a  cutting  sarcasm  in  his  address,  piercing  through 
his  polished  manner.  I  thought  of  Timon,  etc.,  etc. 

One  evening,  we  were  sitting  over  our  Chambertin,  after 
a  hard  day's  work,  and  Guy  was  listlessly  turning  over 
some  letters,  when  suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry.  Did  you 
ever  hear  the  trumpeting  of  a  wounded  elephant?  It  was 
like  that. 

I  looked  at  him  with  consternation.  He  was  glancing 
at  a  letter  which  he  held  at  arm's  length,  and  snorting,  as 
it  were,  at  it  as  he  gazed.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was 
stern,  but  not  as  rigid  as  usual.  He  was  slowly  grinding 
between  his  teeth  the  fragments  of  the  glass  he  had  just 
been  drinking  from. 

Suddenly  he   seized    one    of   his  servants,   and  forcing 


128  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

the  wretch  upon  his  knees,  exclaimed,  with  the  roar  of  a 
tiger,  — 

"  Dog !  why  was  this  kept  from  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  please  sir,  Miss  Flora  said  as  how  it  was  a  rec 
onciliation  from  Miss  Brandagee,  and  it  was  to  be  kept 
from  you  where  you  would  not  be  likely  to  see  it,  —  and 
—  and"  — 

"  Speak,  dog !  and  you  "  — • 

"  I  put  it  among  your  bills,  sir !  " 

With  a  groan,  like  distant  thunder,  Guy  fell  swooning 
to  the  floor. 

He  soon  recovered,  for  the  next  moment  a  servant  came 
rushing  into  the  room  with  the  information  that  a  number 
of  the  ingenuous  peasantry  of  the  neighborhood  were  about 
to  indulge  that  evening  in  the  national  pastime  of  burning 
a  farmhouse  and  shooting  a  landlord.  Guy  smiled  a  fear 
ful  smile,  without,  however,  altering  his  stern  and  pitiless 
expression. 

"Let  them  come,"  he  said  calmly;  "I  feel  like  enter 
taining  company." 

We  barricaded  the  doors  and  windows,  arid  then  chose 
our  arms  from  the  armory.  Guy's  choice  was  a  singular 
one :  it  was  a  landing-net  with  a  long  handle,  and  a  sharp 
cavalry  sabre. 

We  were  not  destined  to  remain  long  in  ignorance  of  its 
use.  A  howl  was  heard  from  without,  and  a  party  of  fifty 
or  sixty  armed  men  precipitated  themselves  against  the 
door. 

Suddenly  the  window  opened.  With  the  rapidity  of 
lightning,  Guy  Heavystone  cast  the  net  over  the  head  of 
the  ringleader,  ejaculated  "Habet!"  and  with  a  back 
stroke  of  his  cavalry  sabre  severed  the  member  from  its 
trunk,  and  drawing  the  net  back  again,  cast  the  gory  head 
upon  the  floor,  saying  quietly,  — 

"One." 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE;  OR,  "ENTIRE" 

Again  the  net  was  cast,  the  steel  flashed,  the  net  was 
withdrawn,  and  an  ominous  "  Two ! "  accompanied  the 
head  as  it  rolled  on  the  floor. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Pliny  says  of  the  gladiator  ?  " 
said  Guy,  calmly  wiping  his  sabre.  "How  graphic  is  that 
passage  commencing  'Inter  nos, '  etc."  The  sport  contin 
ued  until  the  heads  of  twenty  desperadoes  had  been  gath 
ered  in.  The  rest  seemed  inclined  to  disperse.  Guy 
incautiously  showed  himself  at  the  door;  a  ringing  shot 
was  heard,  and  he  staggered  back,  pierced  through  the 
heart.  Grasping  the  doorpost  in  the  last  unconscious 
throes  of  his  mighty  frame,  the  whole  side  of  the  house 
yielded  to  that  earthquake  tremor,  and  we  had  barely  time 
to  escape  before  the  whole  building  fell  in  ruins.  I 
thought  of  Samson,  the  giant  judge,  etc.,  etc.;  but  al) 
was  over. 

Guy  Heavystone  had  died  as  he  had  lived,  —  hard. 


JOHN  JENKINS 

OB 

THE  SMOKER  REFORMED 
BY  T.    S.    A-TH-R 

CHAPTER  I 

"  ONE  cigar  a  day !  "  said  Judge  Boompointer. 

"  One  cigar   a   day ! "    repeated  John  Jenkins,   as 
trepidation  he  dropped  his  half-consumed  cigar  under  hii 
work-bench. 

"One  cigar  a  day  is  three  cents  a  day,"  remarked  Judge 
Boompointer  gravely;  "and  do  you  know,  sir,  what  one 
cigar  a  day,  or  three  cents  a  day,  amounts  to  in  the  course 
of  four  years  ?  " 

John  Jenkins,  in  his  boyhood,  had  attended  the  village 
school,  and  possessed  considerable  arithmetical  ability. 
Taking  up  a  shingle  which  lay  upon  his  work-bench,  and 
producing  a  piece  of  chalk,  with  a  feeling  of  conscious 
pride  he  made  an  exhaustive  calculation. 

"Exactly  forty-three  dollars  and  eighty  cents,"  he  re 
plied,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  heated  brow,  while 
his  face  flushed  with  honest  enthusiasm. 

"Well,  sir,  if  you  saved  three  cents  a  day,  instead  of 
wasting  it,  you  would  now  be  the  possessor  of  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  an  illustrated  Family  Bible,  a  pew  in  the 
church,  a  complete  set  of  Patent  Office  Reports,  a  hymn- 
book,  and  a  paid  subscription  to  *  Arthur's  Home  Maga- 


JOHN   JENKINS  131 

zine,'  which  could  he  purchased  for  exactly  forty-three 
dollars  and  eighty  cents;  and,"  added  the  Judge,  with  in 
creasing  sternness,  "if  you  calculate  leap-year,  which  you 
seem  to  have  strangely  omitted,  you  have  three  cents  more, 
sir  —  three  cents  more  !  What  would  that  buy  you,  sir  ?  " 

"A  cigar,"  suggested  John  Jenkins;  hut,  coloring  again 
deeply,  he  hid  his  face. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  sweet  smile  of  benev 
olence  stealing  over  his  stern  features;  "properly  invested, 
it  would  buy  you  that  which  passeth  all  price.  Dropped 
into  the  missionary-box,  who  can  tell  what  heathen,  now 
idly  and  joyously  wantoning  in  nakedness  and  sin,  might 
be  brought  to  a  sense  of  his  miserable  condition,  and  made, 
through  that  three  cents,  to  feel  the  torments  of  the 
wicked  ? " 

With  these  words  the  Judge  retired,  leaving  John  Jen 
kins  buried  in  profound  thought.  "Three  cents  a  day," 
he  muttered.  "In  forty  years  I  might  be  worth  four 
hundred  and  thirty-eight  dollars  and  ten  cents,  —  and  then 
I  might  marry  Mary.  Ah,  Mary !  "  The  young  carpenter 
sighed,  and  drawing  a  twenty-five  cent  daguerreotype  from 
his  vest-pocket,  gazed  long  and  fervidly  upon  the  features 
of  a  young  girl  in  book  muslin  and  a  coral  necklace. 
Then,  with  a  resolute  expression,  he  carefully  locked  the 
door  of  his  work-shop,  and  departed. 

Alas!  his  good  resolutions  were  too  late.  We  trifle 
with  the  tide  of  fortune,  which  too  often  nips  us  in  the 
bud  and  casts  the  dark  shadow  of  misfortune  over  the 
bright  lexicon  of  youth!  That  night  the  half-consumed 
fragment  of  John  Jenkins's  cigar  set  fire  to  his  work-shop 
and  burned  it  up.  together  with  all  his  tools  and  materials. 
There  was  no  insurance. 


132  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

CHAPTER  II 

THE    DOWNWARD    PATH 

"  Then  you  still  persist  in  marrying  John  Jenkins  ? n 
queried  Judge  Boompointer,  as  he  playfully,  with  paternal 
familiarity,  lifted  the  golden  curls  of  the  village  belle, 
Mary  Jones. 

"  I  do, "  replied  the  fair  young  girl,  in  a  low  voice  that 
resembled  rock  candy  in  its  saccharine  firmness,  —  "I  do. 
He  has  promised  to  reform.  Since  he  lost  all  his  property 
by  fire  "  — 

"The  result  of  his  pernicious  habit,  though  he  illogi- 
cally  persists  in  charging  it  to  me,"  interrupted  the  Judge. 

"Since  then,"  continued  the  young  girl,  "he  has  en 
deavored  to  break  himself  of  the  habit.  He  tells  me  that 
he  has  substituted  the  stalks  of  the  Indian  rattan,  the  outer 
part  of  a  leguminous  plant  called  the  smoking-bean,  and 
the  fragmentary  and  unconsumed  remainder  of  cigars,  which 
occur  at  rare  and  uncertain  intervals  along  the  road,  which, 
as  he  informs  me,  though  deficient  in  quality  and  strength, 
are  comparatively  inexpensive."  And  blushing  at  her 
own  eloquence,  the  young  girl  hid  her  curls  on  the  Judge's 
arm. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  muttered  Judge  Boompointer.  "  Dare 
I  tell  her  all?  Yet  I  must." 

"I  shall  cling  to  him,"  continued  the  young  girl,  rising 
with  her  theme,  "as  the  young  vine  clings  to  some  hoary 
ruin.  Nay,  nay,  chide  me  not,  Judge  Boompointer.  I 
will  marry  John  Jenkins !  " 

The  Judge  was  evidently  affected.  Seating  himself  at 
the  table,  he  wrote  a  few  lines  hurriedly  upon  a  piece  of 
paper,  which  he  folded  and  placed  in  the  fingers  of  the 
destined  bride  of  John  Jenkins. 


JOHN  JENKINS  133 

"Mary  Jones,"  said  the  Judge,  with  impressive  ear 
nestness,  "take  this  trifle  as  a  wedding  gift  from  one  who 
respects  your  fidelity  and  truthfulness.  At  the  altar  let 
it  be  a  reminder  of  me.'7  And  covering  his  face  hastily 
with  a  handkerchief,  the  stern  and  iron-willed  man  left 
the  room.  As  the  door  closed,  Mary  unfolded  the  paper. 
It  was  an  order  on  the  corner  grocery  for  three  yards  of 
flannel,  a  paper  of  needles,  four  pounds  of  soap,  one  pound 
of  starch,  and  two  boxes  of  matches ! 

"Noble  and  thoughtful  man!"  was  all  Mary  Jones 
could  exclaim,  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  bells  of  Cloverdale  are  ringing  merrily.  It  is  a 
wedding.  "  How  beautiful  they  look ! "  is  the  exclama 
tion  that  passes  from  lip  to  lip,  as  Mary  Jones,  leaning 
timidly  on  the  arm  of  John  Jenkins,  enters  the  church. 
But  the  bride  is  agitated,  and  the  bridegroom  betrays  a 
feverish  nervousness.  As  they  stand  in  the  vestibule, 
John  Jenkins  fumbles  earnestly  in  his  vest-pocket.  Can 
it  be  the  ring  he  is  anxious  about?  No.  He  draws  a 
small  brown  substance  from  his  pocket,  and  biting  off  a 
piece,  hastily  replaces  the  fragment  and  gazes  furtively 
around.  Surely  no  one  saw  him?  Alas!  the  eyes  of  two 
of  that  wedding  party  saw  the  fatal  act.  Judge  Boom- 
pointer  shook  his  head  sternly.  Mary  Jones  sighed  and 
breathed  a  silent  prayer.  Her  husband  chewed ! 


CHAPTER  III  AND  LAST 

"  What !  more  bread  ? "  said  John  Jenkins  gruffly. 
"You're  always  asking  for  money  for  bread.  D — nation  I 
Do  you  want  to  ruin  me  by  your  extravagance  ?  "  and  as  he 
uttered  these  words  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  bottle  of 


134  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

whiskey,  a  pipe,  and  a  paper  of  tobacco.  Emptying  the 
first  at  a  draught,  he  threw  the  empty  bottle  at  the  head  of 
his  eldest  boy,  a  youth  of  twelve  summers.  The  missile 
struck  the  child  full  in  the  temple,  and  stretched  him  a 
lifeless  corpse.  Mrs.  Jenkins,  whom  the  reader  will  hardly 
recognize  as  the  once  gay  and  beautiful  Mary  Jones,  raised 
the  dead  body  of  her  son  in  her  arms,  and  carefully  placing 
the  unfortunate  youth  beside  the  pump  in  the  back  yard, 
returned  with  saddened  step  to  the  house.  At  another 
time,  and  in  brighter  days,  she  might  have  wept  at  the 
occurrence.  She  was  past  tears  now. 

"Father,  your  conduct  is  reprehensible!"  said  little 
Harrison  Jenkins,  the  youngest  boy.  "Where  do  you 
expect  to  go  when  you  die  1 " 

"Ah!"  said  John  Jenkins  fiercely;  "this  comes  of  giv 
ing  children  a  liberal  education;  this  is  the  result  of  Sab 
bath-schools.  Down,  viper ! " 

A  tumbler  thrown  from  the  same  parental  fist  laid  out 
the  youthful  Harrison  cold.  The  four  other  children  had, 
in  the  mean  time,  gathered  around  the  table  with  anxious 
expectancy.  With  a  chuckle,  the  now  changed  and  brutal 
John  Jenkins  produced  four  pipes,  and  filling  them  with 
tobacco,  handed  one  to  each  of  his  offspring  and  bade  them 
smoke.  "It's  better  than  bread!"  laughed  the  wretch 
hoarsely. 

Mary  Jenkins,  though  of  a  patient  nature,  felt  it  her 
duty  now  to  speak.  "I  have  borne  much,  John  Jenkins," 
she  said.  "But  I  prefer  that  the  children  should  not 
smoke.  It  is  an  unclean  habit,  and  soils  their  clothes.  1 
ask  this  as  a  special  favor ! " 

John  Jenkins  hesitated,  —  the  pangs  of  remorse  began 
to  seize  him. 

"  Promise  me  this,  John !  "  urged  Mary  upon  her  knees. 

"I  promise  I  "  reluctantly  answered  John. 

yOU  Will  Tint  the 


JOHN  JENKINS  135 

"  I  will, "  repeated  her  husband ;  "  and  2  *11  give  up 
smoking,  too." 

"'Tis  well,  John  Jenkins!"  said  Judge  Boompointer, 
appearing  suddenly  from  behind  the  door,  where  he  had 
been  concealed  during  this  interview.  "Nobly  said!  my 
man.  Cheer  up !  I  will  see  that  the  children  are  decently 
buried."  The  husband  and  wife  fell  into  each  other's 
arms.  And  Judge  Boompointer,  gazing  upon  the  affecting 
spectacle,  burst  into  tears. 

From  that  day  John  Jenkins  was  an  altered  man. 


FAOTIKE 

AFTEB  THE  FRENCH  OF   VICTOR  EUGK) 

PROLOGUE 

As  long  as  there  shall  exist  three  paradoxes,  a  moral  Frenchman,  a  reii- 
gious  atheist,  and  a  believing  skeptic;  so  long,  in  fact,  as  booksellers  shall 
Wait  — say  twenty-five  years—  for  a  new  gospel;  so  long  as  paper  shall 
remain  cheap  and  ink  three  sous  a  bottle,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saving 
that  such  books  as  these  are  not  utterly  profitless. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


To  be  good  is  to  be  queer.  What  is  a  good  man? 
Bishop  Myriel. 

My  friend,  you  will  possibly  object  to  this.  You  will 
say  you  knew  what  a  good  man  is.  Perhaps  you  will  say 
your  clergyman  is  a  good  man,  for  instance. 

Bah !  you  are  mistaken ;  you  are  an  Englishman,  and  an 
Englishman  is  a  beast. 

Englishmen  think  they  are  moral  when  they  are  only 
serious.  These  Englishmen  also  wear  ill-shaped  hats,  and 
dress  horribly ! 

Bah!  they  are  canaille. 

Still,  Bishop  Myriel  was  a  good  man,  —  quite  as  good  as 
you.  Better  than  you,  in  fact. 

One  day  M.  Myriel  was  in  Paris.  This  angel  used  to 
walk  about  the  streets  like  any  other  man.  He  was  not 
proud,  though  fine-looking.  Well,  three  gamins  de  Paris 
called  him  bad  names.  Says  one,  — 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  there  goes  a  priest ;  look  out  for  your 
eggs  and  chickens !  " 


FANTINE  137 

What  did  this  good  man  do  ?    He  called  to  them  kindly. 

"My  children,"  said  he,  "this  is  clearly  not  your  fault. 
I  recognize  in  this  insult  and  irreverence  only  the  fault  of 
your  immediate  progenitors.  Let  us  pray  for  your  imme 
diate  progenitors." 

They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  their  immediate  pro 
genitors. 

The  effect  was  touching. 

The  Bishop  looked  calmly  around. 

"  On  reflection, "  said  he  gravely,  "  I  was  mistaken ;  this 
is  clearly  the  fault  of  Society.  Let  us  pray  for  Society." 

They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  Society. 

The  effect  was  sublimer  yet.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?  You,  I  mean. 

Everybody  remembers  the  story  of  the  Bishop  and  Mo 
ther  Nez  Ketrousse.  Old  Mother  Nez  Eetrousse  sold  as 
paragus.  She  was  poor;  there  's  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in 
that  word,  my  friend.  Some  people  say  "  poor  but  honest. " 
I  say,  Bah ! 

Bishop  Myriel  bought  six  bunches  of  asparagus.  This 
good  man  had  one  charming  failing:  he  was  fond  of  aspa 
ragus.  He  gave  her  a  franc,  and  received  three  sous 
change. 

The  sous  were  bad,  —  counterfeit.  What  did  this  good 
Bishop  do?  He  said:  "I  should  not  have  taken  change 
from  a  poor  woman." 

Then  afterwards,  to  his  housekeeper:  "Never  take 
change  from  a  poor  woman." 

Then  he  added  to  himself:  "For  the  sous  will  probably 
t»  bad." 

n 

When  a  man  commits  a  crime,  Society  claps  him  in 
prison.  A  prison  is  one  of  the  worst  hotels  imaginable 


138  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

The  people  there  are  low  and  vulgar.  The  butter  is  bad, 
the  coffee  is  green.  Ah,  it  is  horrible! 

In  prison,  as  in  a  bad  hotel,  a  man  soon  loses,  not  only 
his  morals,  but  what  is  much  worse  to  a  Frenchman,  his 
sense  of  refinement  and  delicacy. 

Jean  Valjean  came  from  prison  with  confused  notions  of 
Society.  He  forgot  the  modern  peculiarities  of  hospitality. 
So  he  walked  off  with  the  Bishop's  candlesticks. 

Let  us  consider.  Candlesticks  were  stolen ;  that  was  evi 
dent.  Society  put  Jean  Valjean  in  prison;  that  was  evi 
dent,  too.  In  prison,  Society  took  away  his  refinement; 
that  is  evident,  likewise. 

Who  is  Society  ? 

You  and  I  are  Society. 

My  friend,  you  and  I  stole  those  candlesticks ! 


Ill 

The  Bishop  thought  so,  too.  He  meditated  profoundly 
for  six  days.  On  the  morning  of  the  seventh  he  went  to 
the  Prefecture  of  Police. 

He  said:  "Monsieur,  have  me  arrested.  I  have  stolen 
candlesticks. " 

The  official  was  governed  by  the  law  of  Society,  and  re 
fused. 

What  did  this  Bishop  do  ? 

He  had  a  charming  ball  and  chain  made,  affixed  to  his 
leg,  and  wore  it  the  rest  of  his  life.  This  is  a  fact! 

rv 

Love  is  a  mystery. 

A  little  friend  of  mine  down  in  the  country,  at  Auvergne, 
said  to  me  one  day:  "Victor,  Love  is  the  world,  — it  con 
tains  everything." 


FANTINE  139 

She  was  only  sixteen,  this  sharp-witted  little  girl,  and  a 
beautiful  blonde.  She  thought  everything  of  me. 

Fantine  was  one  of  those  women  who  do  wrong  in  the 
most  virtuous  and  touching  manner.  This  is  a  peculiarity 
of  French  grisettes. 

You  are  an  Englishman,  and  you  don't  understand. 
Learn,  my  friend,  learn.  Come  to  Paris  and  improve 
your  morals. 

Fantine  was   the  soul  of    modesty.     She    always  wore 
high-neck  dresses.      High-neck  dresses  are  a  sign  of  mo^ 
esty. 

Fantine  loved  Tholmoyes.  Why?  My  God!  What 
are  you  to  do  ?  It  was  the  fault  of  her  parents,  and  she 
hadn't  any.  How  shall  you  teach  her?  You  must  teach 
the  parent  if  you  wish  to  educate  the  child.  How  would 
you  become  virtuous? 

Teach  your  grandmother! 


When  Tholmoyes  ran  away  from  Fantine,  —  which  was 
done  in  a  charming,  gentlemanly  manner,  —  Fantine  became 
convinced  that  a  rigid  sense  of  propriety  might  look  upon 
her  conduct  as  immoral.  She  was  a  creature  of  sensitive 
ness,  —  and  her  eyes  were  opened. 

She  was  virtuous  still,  and  resolved  to  break  off  the  liai- 
bon  at  once. 

So  she  put  up  her  wardrobe  and  baby  in  a  bundle, 
child  as  she  was,  she  loved  them  both,  —  then  left  Paris. 


VI 

Fan  tine's  native  place  had  changed. 

M.    Madeline  —  an  angel,  and  inventor  of  jet- work -^ 


140  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

had  been  teaching  the  villagers  how  to  make  spurious 
jet. 

This  is  a  progressive  age.  Those  Americans  —  children 
of  the  West,  —  they  make  nutmegs  out  of  wood. 

I,  myself,  have  seen  hams  made  of  pine,  in  the  wigwams 
of  those  children  of  the  forest. 

But  civilization  has  acquired  deception  too.  Society  is 
made  up  of  deception.  Even  the  best  French  society. 

Still  there  was  one  sincere  episode. 

Eh? 

The  French  Kevolution! 


VII 

M.  Madeline  was,  if  anything,  better  than  Myriel. 

M.  Myriel  was  a  saint.      M.  Madeline  a  good  man. 

M.  Myriel  was  dead.      M.  Madeline  was  living. 

That  made  all  the  difference. 

M.  Madeline  made  virtue  profitable.  I  have  seen  it  writ 
ten,  — 

"Be  virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy." 

Where  did  I  see  this  written  ?  In  the  modern  Bible  ? 
No.  In  the  Koran  1  No.  In  Kousseau  ?  No.  Diderot  ? 
No.  Where  then? 

In  a  copy-book. 

VIII 

M.  Madeline  was  M.  le  Maire. 
This  is  how  it  came  about. 

For  a  long  time  he  refused  the  honor.      One  day  an  old 
woman,  standing  on  the  steps,  said,  — 
"Bah,  a  good  mayor  is  a  good  thing. 
"  You  are  a  good  thing. 


FANTINE  141 

"Be  a  good  mayor." 

This  woman  was  a  rhetorician.  She  understood  inductive 
ratiocination. 

IX 

/ 

When  this  good  M.  Madeline,  who,  the  reader  will  per* 
ceive,  must  have  been  a  former  convict,  and  a  very  bad  man, 
gave  himself  up  to  justice  as  the  real  Jean  Valjean,  about 
this  same  time,  Fantine  was  turned  away  from  the  manu 
factory,  and  met  with  a  number  of  losses  from  Society. 
Society  attacked  her,  and  this  is  what  she  lost :  — 

First  her  lover. 

Then  her  child. 

Then  her  place. 

Then  her  hair. 

Then  her  teeth. 

Then  her  liberty. 

Then  her  life. 

What  do  you  think  of  Society  after  that  ?  I  tell  you  tbi 
present  social  system  is  a  humbug. 


This  is  necessarily  the  end  of  Fantine. 

There  are  other  things  that  will  be  stated  in  other  vol 
umes  to  follow.  Don't  be  alarmed;  there  are  plenty  oi 
miserable  people  left. 

Au  revoir  —  my  friend. 


"LA  FEMME" 

AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  M.  MICHELET 

I 
WOMEN    AS    AN    INSTITUTION 

"!F  it  were  not  for  women,  few  of  us  would  at  present 
b«  in  existence."  This  is  the  remark  of  a  cautious  and 
discreet  writer.  He  was  also  sagacious  and  intelligent. 

Woman!  Look  upon  her  and  admire  her.  Gaze  upon 
her  and  love  her.  If  she  wishes  to  embrace  you,  permit 
her.  Remember  she  is  weak  and  you  are  strong. 

But  don't  treat  her  unkindly.  Don't  make  love  to  an 
other  woman  before  her  face,  even  if  she  be  your  wife. 
Don't  do  it.  Always  be  polite,  even  should  she  fancy 
somebody  better  than  you. 

If  your  mother,  my  dear  Amadis,  had  not  fancied  your 
father  better  than  somebody,  you  might  have  been  that 
somebody's  son.  Consider  this.  Always  be  a  philosopher, 
even  about  women. 

Few  men  understand  women.  Frenchmen,  perhaps 
better  than  any  one  else.  I  am  a  Frenchman. 

n 

THE    INFANT 

She  is  a  child  —  a  little  thing  —  an  infant. 
She  has  a  mother  and  father.      Let  us  suppose,  for  ex- 
axnple,  they  are  married.      Let  us  be  moral  if  we  cannot  be 


143 

happy  and  free  —  they  are  married  —  perhaps  —  they  love 
one  another  —  who  knows  ? 

But  she  knows  nothing  of  this;  she  is  an  infant  —  a 
small  thing  —  a  trifle ! 

She  is  not  lovely  at  first.  It  is  cruel,  perhaps,  but  she 
is  red,  and  positively  ugly.  She  feels  this  keenly,  and 
cries.  She  weeps.  Ah,  my  God,  how  she  weeps!  Her 
cries  and  lamentations  now  are  really  distressing. 

Tears  stream  from  her  in  floods.  She  feels  deeply  and 
copiously,  like  M.  Alphonse  de  Lamartine  in  his  "Confes 
sions." 

If  you  are  her  mother,  Madame,  you  will  fancy  worms; 
you  will  examine  her  linen  for  pins,  and  what  not.  Ah, 
hypocrite !  you,  even  you,  misunderstand  her. 

Yet  she  has  charming  natural  impulses.  See  how  she 
tosses  her  dimpled  arms.  She  looks  longingly  at  her 
mother.  She  has  a  language  of  her  own.  She  says,  "goo, 
goo,"  and  "ga,  ga." 

She  demands  something  —  this  infant ! 

She  is  faint,  poor  thing.  She  famishes.  She  wishes 
to  be  restored.  Restore  her,  Mother! 

It  is  the  first  duty  of  a  mother  to  restore  her  child  ! 


m 

THE    DOLL 

She  is  hardly  able  to  walk;  she  already  totters  under 
the  weight  of  a  doll. 

It  is  a  charming  and  elegant  affair.  It  has  pink  cheeks 
and  purple-black  hair.  She  prefers  brunettes,  for  she  has 
already,  with  the  quick  knowledge  of  a  French  infant,  per 
ceived  she  is  a  blonde,  and  that  her  doll  cannot  rival  her. 
Mon  Dieu,  how  touching!  Happy  child!  She  spends 
hours  in  preparing  its  toilet.  She  begins  to  show  her  taste 


144  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

in  the  exquisite  details  of  its  dress.  She  loves  it  madly, 
devotedly.  She  will  prefer  it  to  bonbons.  She  already 
anticipates  the  wealth  of  love  she  will  hereafter  pour  out 
on  her  lover,  her  mother,  her  father,  and  finally,  perhaps, 
her  husband. 

This  is  the  time  the  anxious  parent  will  guide  these 
first  outpourings.  She  will  read  her  extracts  from  Miche- 
let's  "L' Amour,"  Eousseau's  "Heloise,"  and  the  "Kevue 
des  deux  Mondes." 

IV 

THE    MUD    PIE 

She  was  in  tears  to-day. 

She  had  stolen  away  from  her  bonne  and  was  with  some 
rustic  infants.  They  had  noses  in  the  air,  and  large,  coarse 
hands  and  feet. 

They  had  seated  themselves  around  a  pool  in  the  road, 
and  were  fashioning  fantastic  shapes  in  the  clayey  soil  with 
their  hands.  Her  throat  swelled  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  delight  as,  for  the  first  time,  her  soft  palms  touched 
the  plastic  mud.  She  made  a  graceful  and  lovely  pie.  She 
stuffed  it  with  stones  for  almonds  and  plums.  She  forgot 
everything.  It  was  being  baked  in  the  solar  rays,  when 
madame  came  and  took  her  away. 

She  weeps.      It  is  night,  and  she  is  weeping  still. 


V 

THE    FIKST    LOVE 

She  no  longer  doubts  her  beauty.      She  is  loved. 
She  saw  him  secretly.      He  is  vivacious  and  sprightly. 
He  is  famous.      He  has  already  had  an  affair  with  Finfin, 


"LA  FEMME"  145 

the  fille  de  chambre,  and  poor  Finfin  is  desolate.  He  ia 
noble.  She  knows  he  is  the  son  of  Madame  la  Baroune 
Couturiere.  She  adores  him. 

She  affects  not  to  notice  him.  Poor  little  thing !  Hip- 
polyte  is  distracted  —  annihilated  —  inconsolable  and 
charming. 

She  admires  his  boots,  his  cravat,  his  little  gloves  —  his 
exquisite  pantaloons  —  his  coat,  and  cane. 

She  offers  to  run  away  with  him.  He  is  transported, 
but  magnanimous.  He  is  wearied,  perhaps.  She  sees  him 
the  next  day  offering  flowers  to  the  daughter  of  Madame 
la  Comtesse  Blanchisseuse. 

She  is  again  in  tears. 

She  reads  "Paul  et  Virginie."  She  is  secretly  trans 
ported.  When  she  reads  how  the  exemplary  young  woman 
laid  down  her  life  rather  than  appear  en  deshabille7  to  her 
lover,  she  weeps  again.  Tasteful  and  virtuous  Bernardio 
de  Saint-Pierre !  —  the  daughters  of  France  admire  you ! 

All  this  time  her  doll  is  headless  in  the  cabinet.  The 
mud  pie  is  broken  on  the  road. 

VI 

THE    WIFE 

She  is  tired  of  loving,  and  she  marries. 

Her  mother  thinks  it,  on  the  whole,  the  best  thing.  As 
the  day  approaches,  she  is  found  frequently  in  tears.  Her 
mother  will  not  permit  the  affianced  one  to  see  her,  and  he 
makes  several  attempts  to  commit  suicide. 

But  something  happens.  Perhaps  it  is  winter,  and  the 
water  is  cold.  Perhaps  there  are  not  enough  people  present 
to  witness  his  heroism. 

In  this  way  her  future  husband  is  spared  to  her.  The 
ways  of  Providence  are  indeed  mysterious.  At  this  time 


146  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

her  mother  will  talk  with  her.  She  will  offer  philosophy. 
She  will  tell  her  she  was  married  herself. 

But  what  is  this  new  and  ravishing  light  that  breaks  upon 
her  ?  The  toilet  and  wedding  clothes !  She  is  in  a  new 
sphere. 

She  makes  out  her  list  in  her  own  charming  writing. 
Here  it  is.  Let  every  mother  heed  it.1 

She  is  married.  On  the  day  after,  she  meets  her  old 
lover,  Hippolyte.  He  is  again  transported. 


VII 

HER    OLD    AGE 

A  Frenchwoman  never  grows  old 

i  The  delicate  reader  will  appreciate  the  omission  of  certain  articles  fo 
which  English  synonyms  are  forbidden. 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD 

BY    SIR    ED-D    L-TT-N    B-LW-R 

BOOK    I 
THE    PROMPTINGS    OF    THE    IDEAL 

IT  was  noon.  Sir  Edward  had  stepped  from  his 
brougham,  and  was  proceeding  on  foot  down  the  Strand. 
He  was  dressed  with  his  usual  faultless  taste,  but  in  alight 
ing  from  his  vehicle  his  foot  had  slipped,  and  a  small  round 
disk  of  conglomerated  soil,  which  instantly  appeared  on 
his  high  arched  instep,  marred  the  harmonious  glitter  of 
his  boots.  Sir  Edward  was  fastidious.  Casting  his  eyes 
around,  at  a  little  distance  he  perceived  the  stand  of  a 
youthful  bootblack.  Thither  he  sauntered,  and  carelessly 
placing  his  foot  on  the  low  stool,  he  waited  the  application 
of  the  polisher's  art.  "'T  is  true,"  said  Sir  Edward  to 
himself,  yet  half  aloud,  "  the  contact  of  the  Foul  and  the 
Disgusting  mars  the  general  effect  of  the  Shiny  and  the 
Beautiful  —  and,  yet,  why  am  I  here  ?  I  repeat  it,  calmly 
and  deliberately  —  why  am  I  here  1  Ha !  Boy !  " 

The  Boy  looked  up  —  his  dark  Italian  eyes  glanced  intel 
ligently  at  the  Philosopher,  and  as  with  one  hand  he  tossed 
back  his  glossy  curls  from  his  marble  broMr,  and  with  the 
other  he  spread  the  equally  glossy  Day  &  Martin  over  the 
Baronet's  boot,  he  answered  in  deep,  rich  tones:  "The 
Ideal  is  subjective  to  the  Real.  The  exercise  of  appercep 
tion  gives  a  distinctiveness  to  idiocracy,  which  is,  however, 
subject  to  the  limits  of  ME.  You  are  an  admirer  of  the 


148  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

Beauitful,  sir.  You  wish  your  boots  blacked.  The  Beau 
tiful  is  attainable  by  means  of  the  Coin." 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  Edward  thoughtfully,  gazing  upon  the 
almost  supernal  beauty  of  the  Child  before  him ;  "  you  speak 
well.  You  have  read  Kant." 

The  Boy  blushed  deeply.  He  drew  a  copy  of  Kant 
from  his  blouse,  but  in  his  confusion  several  other  volumes 
dropped  from  his  bosom  on  the  ground.  The  Baronet 
picked  them  up. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Philosopher,  "what's  this?  Cicero's 
'  De  Senectute, '  —  at  your  age,  too  ?  Martial's  *  Epigrams, ' 
Caesar's  'Commentaries.'  What!  a  classical  scholar  ?" 

"E  pluribus  Unum.  Nux  vomica.  Nil  desperandum. 
Nihil  fit !  "  said  the  Boy  enthusiastically.  The  Philosopher 
gazed  at  the  Child.  A  strange  presence  seemed  to  transfuse 
and  possess  him.  Over  the  brow  of  the  Boy  glittered  the 
pale  nimbus  of  the  Student. 

"Ah,  and  Schiller's  'Bobbers,'  too?"  queried  the  Phi 
losopher. 

"  Das  ist  ausgespielt, "  said  the  Boy  modestly. 

"Then  you  have  read  my  translation  of  Schiller's  '  Bal 
lads'  ?  "  continued  the  Baronet,  with  some  show  of  interest. 

"I  have,  and  infinitely  prefer  them  to  the  original,"  saiJ 
the  Boy,  with  intellectual  warmth.  "  You  have  shown  how 
in  Actual  life  we  strive  for  a  Goal  we  cannot  reach ;  how 
in  the  Ideal  the  Goal  is  attainable,  and  there  effort  is  vic 
tory.  You  have  given  us  the  Antithesis  which  is  a  key  to 
the  Remainder,  and  constantly  balances  before  us  the  con 
ditions  of  the  Actual  and  the  privileges  of  the  Ideal." 

"My  very  words,"  said  the  Baronet;  "wonderful,  won 
derful  !  "  and  he  gazed  fondly  at  the  Italian  boy,  who  again 
resumed  his  menial  employment.  Alas !  the  wings  of  the 
Ideal  were  folded.  The  Student  had  been  absorbed  in  the 
Boy. 

But  Sir  Edward's  boots  were  blacked,  and  he  turned  to 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE   THRESHOLD  149 

depart.  Placing  his  hand  upon  the  clustering  tendrils 
that  surrounded  the  classic  nob  of  the  infant  Italian,  he 
said  softly,  like  a  strain  of  distant  music,  — 

"Boy,  you  have  done  well.  Love  the  Good.  Protect 
the  Innocent.  Provide  for  the  Indigent.  Kespect  the 
Philosopher.  .  .  .  Stay !  Can  you  tell  me  what  is  The 
True,  The  Beautiful,  The  Innocent,  The  Virtuous  1 " 

"They  are  things  that  commence  with  a  capital  letter," 
said  the  Boy  promptly. 

"  Enough !  Respect  everything  that  commences  with  a 
capital  letter !  Eespect  ME  !  "  and  dropping  a  halfpenny  in 
the  hand  of  the  boy,  he  departed. 

The  Boy  gazed  fixedly  at  the  coin.  A  frightful  and 
instantaneous  change  overspread  his  features.  His  noble 
brow  was  corrugated  with  baser  lines  of  calculation.  His 
black  eye,  serpent-like,  glittered  with  suppressed  passion. 
Dropping  upon  his  hands  and  feet,  he  crawled  to  the  curb 
stone,  and  hissed  after  the  retreating  form  of  the  Baronet 
the  single  word  — 

"Bilk!" 

BOOK  II 

IN    THE    WORLD 

"Eleven  years  ago,"  said  Sir  Edward  to  himself,  as  his 
brougham  slowly  rolled  him  toward  the  Committee  Room, 
"just  eleven  years  ago  my  natural  son  disappeared  mysteri 
ously.  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  but  that  this  little 
bootblack  is  he.  His  mother  died  in  Italy.  He  resembles 
his  mother  very  much.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  provide  for 
him.  Shall  I  disclose  myself  1  No !  no !  Better  he  should 
taste  the  sweets  of  Labor.  Penury  ennobles  the  mind  and 
kindles  the  Love  of  the  Beautiful.  I  will  act  to  him, 
not  like  a  Father,  not  like  a  Guardian,  not  like  a  Friend 
—  but  like  a  Philosopher !  " 


150  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

With  these  words,  Sir  Edward  entered  the  Committee 
Koom.  His  Secretary  approached  him.  "Sir  Edward, 
there  are  fears  of  a  division  in  the  House,  and  the  Prime 
Minister  has  sent  for  you." 

"I  will  be  there,"  said  Sir  Edward,  as  he  placed  his 
hand  on  his  chest  and  uttered  a  hollow  cough ! 

No  one  who  heard  the  Baronet  that  night,  in  his  sarcastic 
and  withering  speech  on  the  Drainage  and  Sewerage  Bill, 
would  have  recognized  the  Lover  of  the  Ideal  and  the 
Philosopher  of  the  Beautiful.  No  one  who  listened  to  his 
eloquence  would  have  dreamed  of  the  Spartan  resolution 
this  iron  man  had  taken  in  regard  to  the  Lost  Boy  —  his 
own  beloved  Lionel.  None ! 

"A  fine  speech  from  Sir  Edward  to-night,"  said  Lord 
Billingsgate,  as,  arm  and  arm  with  the  Premier,  he  entered 
his  carriage. 

"  Yes !  but  how  dreadfully  he  coughs !  " 

"Exactly.  Dr.  Bolus  says  his  lungs  are  entirely  gone; 
he  breathes  entirely  by  an  effort  of  will,  and  altogether  in 
dependent  of  pulmonary  assistance." 

"  How  strange !  "     And  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

BOOK  III 

THE    DWELLER    OF    THE    THRESHOLD 

"  Adon  Ai,  appear !  appear !  " 

And  as  the  Seer  spoke,  the  awful  Presence  glided  out  of 
Nothingness,  and  sat,  sphinx-like,  at  the  feet  of  the  Al 
chemist. 

"  I  am  come !  "  said  the  Thing. 

"You  should  say,  'I  have  come,'  —  it's  better  gram 
mar,"  said  the  Boy-Neophyte,  thoughtfully  accenting  the 
substituted  expression. 

"  Hush,  rash  Boy, "  said  the  Seer  sternly.      "  Would  you 


THE   DWELLER   OF   THE   THRESHOLD  151 

oppose  your  feeble  knowledge  to  the  infinite  intelligence  of 
the  Unmistakable?  A  word,  and  you  are  lost  forever." 

The  Boy  breathed  a  silent  prayer,  and  handing  a  sealed 
package  to  the  Seer,  begged  him  to  hand  it  to  his  father  in 
case  of  his  premature  decease. 

"You  have  sent  for  me,"  hissed  the  Presence.  "Behold 
me,  Apokatharticon,  —  the  Unpronounceable.  In  me  all 
things  exist  that  are  not  already  coexistent.  I  am  the 
Unattainable,  the  Intangible,  the  Cause,  and  the  Effect.  In 
me  observe  the  Brahma  of  Mr.  Emerson ;  not  only  Brahma 
himself,  but  also  the  sacred  musical  composition  rehearsed 
by  the  faithful  Hindoo.  I  am  the  real  Gyges.  None 
others  are  genuine." 

And  the  veiled  Son  of  the  Starbeam  laid  himself  loosely 
about  the  room,  and  permeated  Space  generally. 

"Unfathomable  Mystery,"  said  the  Rosicrucian  in  alow, 
sweet  voice.  "Brave  Child  with  the  Vitreous  Optic! 
Thou  who  pervadest  all  things  and  rubbest  against  us  with 
out  abrasion  of  the  cuticle.  I  command  thee,  speak !  " 

And  the  misty,  intangible,  indefinite  Presence  spoke. 

BOOK  IV 

MYSELF 

After  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter,  the  reader 
will  perceive  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to  reconcile  Sir 
Edward  to  his  son  Lionel,  nor  to  resuscitate  the  beautiful 
Italian  girl,  who,  it  appears,  was  not  dead,  and  to  cause  Sir 
Edward  to  marry  his  first  and  boyish  love,  whom  he  had 
deserted.  They  were  married  in  St.  George's,  Hanover 
Square.  As  the  bridal  party  stood  before  the  altar,  Sir 
Edward,  with  a  sweet,  sad  smile,  said  in  quite  his  old  man 
ner,  — 

"  The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  are  the  Real ;  the  only  Ideal 


152  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

is  the  Ridiculous  and  Homely.  Let  us  always  remember 
this.  Let  us  through  life  endeavor  to  personify  the  virtues, 
and  always  begin  'em  with  a  capital  letter.  Let  us,  when 
ever  we  can  find  an  opportunity,  deliver  our  sentiments  in 
the  form  of  roundhand  copies.  Kespect  the  Aged.  Eschetf 
Vulgarity.  Admire  Ourselves.  Eegard  the  Novelist. " 


BEING  A  NOVEL  IN  THE  FRENCH  PARAGRAPHIC  STYLB 

—  MADEMOISELLE,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  love  you. 

—  You  who  read  these  pages.     You  who  turn  your  burn° 
ing  eyes  upon   these  words  —  words   that    I    trace  —  ah, 
heaven!  the  thought  maddens  me. 

—  I  will  be  calm.      I  will  imitate  the  reserve  of  the  fes 
tive  Englishman,  who  wears  a  spotted  handkerchief  which 
he  calls  a  Belchio,  who  eats  biftek,  and  caresses  a  bulldog. 
I  will  subdue  myself  like  him. 

—  Ha !  Poto-beer !     All  right  —  Goddam ! 

—  Or,  I  will  conduct  myself  as  the  free-born  American 
—  the  gay  Brother  Jonathan.      I  will  whittle  me  a  stick. 
I  will  whistle  to  myself  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  forget  my 
passion  in  excessive  expectoration. 

—  Ho !  ho !  —  wake  snakes  and  walk  chalks. 


The  world  is  divided  into  two  great  divisions,  —  Paris 
and  the  provinces.  There  is  but  one  Paris.  There  are 
several  provinces,  among  which  may  be  numbered  England, 
America,  Russia,  and  Italy. 

N  1ST.  was  a  Parisian. 

But  N  N.  did  not  live  in  Paris.  Drop  a  Parisian  in  the 
provinces,  and  you  drop  a  part  of  Paris  with  him.  Drop 
him  in  Senegambia,  and  in  three  days  he  will  give  you  an 
omelette  soufflee,  or  a  pate  de  foie  gras,  served  by  the  neat 
est  of  Senegambian  filles,  whom  he  will  call  mademoiselle. 
In  three  weeks  he  will  give  you  an  opera. 


154  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

N  N.  was  not  dropped  in  Senegambia,  but  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  —  quite  as  awkward. 

They  find  gold  in  San  Francisco,  but  they  don't  under 
stand  gilding. 

N  N.  existed  three  years  in  this  place.  He  became 
bald  on  the  top  of  his  head,  as  all  Parisians  do.  Look  down 
from  your  box  at  the  Opera  Comique,  mademoiselle,  and 
count  the  bald  crowns  of  the  fast  young  men  in  the  pit. 
Ah  —  you  tremble!  They  show  where  the  arrows  of  love 
have  struck  and  glanced  off. 

N  N.  was  almost  near-sighted,  as  all  Parisians  finally 
become.  This  is  a  gallant  provision  of  nature  to  spare  them 
the  mortification  of  observing  that  their  lady  friends  grow 
old.  After  a  certain  age  every  woman  is  nandsome  to  a 
Parisian. 

One  day,  N  N.  was  walking  down  Washington  Street. 
Suddenly  he  stopped. 

He  was  standing  before  the  door  of  a  mantua-maker. 
Beside  the  counter,  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the  shop, 
stood  a  young  and  elegantly  formed  woman.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  N  N.  He  entered.  With  a  plausible  excuse 
and  seeming  indifference,  he  gracefully  opened  conversation 
with  the  mantua-maker  as  only  a  Parisian  can.  But  he 
had  to  deal  with  a  Parisian.  His  attempts  to  view  the 
features  of  the  fair  stranger  by  the  counter  were  deftly  com 
bated  by  the  shopwoman.  He  was  obliged  to  retire. 

N  N.  went  home  and  lost  his  appetite.  He  was  haunted 
by  the  elegant  basque  and  graceful  shoulders  of  the  fair 
unknown,  during  the  whole  night. 

The  next  day  he  sauntered  by  the  mantua-maker.  Ah! 
Heavens!  A  thrill  ran  through  his  frame,  and  his  fingers 
tingled  with  a  delicious  electricity.  The  fair  inconnue  was 
there !  He  raised  his  hat  gracefully.  He  was  not  certain, 
but  he  thought  that  a  slight  motion  of  her  faultless  bonnet 
betrayed  recognition.  He  would  have  wildly  darted  into 


N   N.  155 

the  shop,  but  just  then  the  figure  of  the  mantua- maker  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway. 

—  Did  monsieur  wish  anything  ? 

—  Misfortune !    Desperation.      N  N.  purchased  a  bottle 
of  Prussia  acid,  a  sack  of  charcoal,  and  a  quire  of  pink  note- 
paper,  and  returned  home.     He  wrote  a  letter  of  farewell  to 
the  closely  fitting  basque,  and  opened  the  bottle  of  Prussia 
acid. 

Some  one  knocked  at  his  door.  It  was  a  Chinaman,  with 
his  weekly  linen. 

These  Chinese  are  docile,  but  not  intelligent.  They  are 
ingenious,  but  not  creative.  They  are  cunning  in  expedi 
ents,  but  deficient  in  tact.  In  love  they  are  simply  barbar 
ous.  They  purchase  their  wives  openly,  and  not  construc 
tively  by  attorney.  By  offering  small  sums  for  their 
sweethearts,  they  degrade  the  value  of  the  sex. 

Nevertheless,  N  N.  felt  he  was  saved.  He  explained  all 
to  the  faithful  Mongolian,  and  exhibited  the  letter  he  had 
written.  He  implored  him  to  deliver  it. 

The  Mongolian  assented.  The  race  are  not  cleanly 
or  sweet-savored,  but  N  N".  fell  upon  his  neck.  He  em 
braced  him  with  one  hand,  and  closed  his  nostrils  with  the 
other.  Through  him,  he  felt  he  clasped  the  close-fitting 
basque. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  agony  and  suspense.  Evening 
came,  but  no  mercy.  N  N.  lit  the  charcoal.  But,  to  com 
pose  his  nerves,  he  closed  his  door  and  first  walked  mildly 
up  and  down  Montgomery  Street.  When  he  returned,  he 
found  the  faithful  Mongolian  on  the  steps. 

—  Alllity! 

These  Chinese  are  not  accurate  in  their  pronunciation. 
They  avoid  the  r,  like  the  English  nobleman. 

N  N.  gasped  for  breath.  He  leaned  heavily  against  the 
Chinaman. 

—  Then  you  have  seen  her,  Ching  Long  ? 


156  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

—  Yes.      All  lity.      She  cum.      Top  side  of  house. 
The  docile  barbarian  pointed  up  the  stairs,  and  chuckled. 

—  She  here  —  impossible !     Ah,  Heaven !  do  I  dream  ? 

—  Yes.     All  lity,  —  top  side  of  house.    Good-by,  John. 
This  is  the  familiar  parting  epithet  of  the  Mongolian.    It 

is  equivalent  to  our  au  revoir. 

N  N.  gazed  with  a  stupefied  air  on  the  departing  servant. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  his  throbbing  heart.  She  here, 
—  alone  beneath  this  roof  1  Oh,  heavens, —  what  happiness  1 

But  how  ?  Torn  from  her  home.  Ruthlessly  dragged, 
perhaps,  from  her  evening  devotions,  by  the  hands  of  a  re 
lentless  barbarian.  Could  she  forgive  him  1 

He  dashed  frantically  up  the  stairs.  He  opened  the 
door. 

She  was  standing  beside  his  couch  with  averted  face, 

A  strange  giddiness  overtook  him.  He  sank  upon  his 
knees  at  the  threshold. 

—  Pardon,  pardon.      My  angel,  can  you  forgive  me? 

A  terrible  nausea  now  seemed  added  to  the  fearful  giddi 
ness.  His  utterance  grew  thick  and  sluggish. 

—  Speak,  speak,  enchantress.      Forgiveness  is  all  I  ask. 
My  Love,  my  Life! 

She  did  not  answer.  He  staggered  to  his  feet.  As  he 
rose,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  pan  of  burning  charcoal.  A  ter 
rible  suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind.  This  giddiness  — 
this  nausea.  The  ignorance  of  the  barbarian.  This 
silence.  Oh,  merciful  heavens!  she  was  dying! 

He  crawled  toward  her.  He  touched  her.  She  fell  for 
ward  with  a  lifeless  sound  upon  the  floor.  He  uttered  a 
piercing  shriek,  and  threw  himself  beside  her. 

A  file  of  gendarmes,  accompanied  by  the  Chef  Burke, 
found  him  the  next  morning  lying  lifeless  upon  the  floor. 
They  laughed  brutally  —  these  cruel  minions  of  the  law  — 
and  disengaged  his  arm  from  the  waist  of  the  wooden 


N  N.  157 

dummy  which  they  had  come  to  reclaim,  from  the  mantua- 
maker. 

Emptying  a  few  bucketfuls  of  water  over  his  form,  they 
finally  succeeded  in  robbing  him,  not  only  of  his  miatrese, 
but  of  that  Death  he  had  coveted  without  her. 

Ah !  we  live  in  a  strange  world,  messieurs. 


NO  TITLE 

BY  W-LK-E  C-LL-NS 

PROLOGUE 

THE  following  advertisement  appeared  in  the  "Times'' 
of  the  17th  of  June,  1845: — 

WANTED.  —  A  few  young  men  for  a  light,  genteel  em 
ployment.  Address  J.  W.,  P.  0. 

In  the  same  paper,  of  same  date,  in  another  column :  — 

To  LET.  —  That  commodious  and  elegant  family  man 
sion,  No.  27  Limehouse  Road,  Pultneyville,  will  be  rented 
low  to  a  respectable  tenant  if  applied  for  immediately,  the 
family  being  about  to  remove  to  the  Continent. 

Under  the  local  intelligence,  in  another  column :  — 

MISSING.  —  An  unknown  elderly  gentleman  a  week  ago 
left  his  lodgings  in  the  Kent  Road,  since  which  nothing 
has  been  heard  of  him.  He  left  no  trace  of  his  identity 
except  a  portmanteau  containing  a  couple  of  shirts  marked 
"209,  Ward." 

To  find  the  connection  between  the  mysterious  disap 
pearance  of  the  elderly  gentleman  and  the  anonymous  com 
munication,  the  relevancy  of  both  these  incidents  to  the 
letting  of  a  commodious  family  mansion,  and  the  dead  secret 


NO  TITLE  159 

involved  in  the  three  occurrences,  is  the  task  of  the  writer 
of  this  history. 

A  slim  young  man  with  spectacles,  a  large  hat,  drab 
gaiters,  and  a  notebook,  sat  late  that  night  with  a  copy  of 
the  "  Times "  before  him,  and  a  pencil  which  he  rattled 
nervously  between  his  teeth  in  the  coffee-room  of  the  Blue 
Pragon. 

CHAPTER  I 

MARY    JONES'S    NARRATIVE 

I  am  upper  housemaid  to  the  family  that  live  at  No.  27 
1/imehouse  Eoad,  Pultneyville.  I  have  been  requested  by 
Mr.  Wilkey  Collings,  which  I  takes  the  liberty  of  here  stat 
ing  is  a  gentleman  born  and  bred,  and  has  some  considera 
tion  for  the  feelings  of  servants,  and  is  not  above  reward 
ing  them  for  their  trouble,  which  is  more  than  you  can  say 
for  some  who  ask  questions  and  gets  short  answers  enough, 
gracious  knows,  to  tell  what  I  know  about  them.  I  have 
been  requested  to  tell  my  story  in  my  own  langwidge, 
though,  being  no  schollard,  mind  cannot  conceive.  I  think 
my  master  is  a  brute.  Do  not  know  that  he  has  ever  at 
tempted  to  poison  my  missus,  —  which  is  too  good  for  him, 
and  how  she  ever  came  to  marry  him,  heart  only  can  tell, 
—  but  believe  him  to  be  capable  of  any  such  hatrosity. 
Have  heard  him  swear  dreadful  because  of  not  having  his 
shaving- water  at  nine  o'clock  precisely.  Do  not  know 
whether  he  ever  forged  a  will  or  tried  to  get  my  missus's 
property,  although,  not  having  confidence  in  the  man, 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  had  done  so.  Believe  that 
there  was  always  something  mysterious  in  his  conduct. 
Remember  distinctly  how  the  family  left  home  to  go  abroad. 
Was  putting  up  my  back  hair,  last  Saturday  morning, 
when  I  heard  a  ring.  Says  cook,  "That's  missus's  bell, 
and  mind  you  hurry  or  the  master  'ill  know  why."  Says 


160  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

I,  "Humbly  thanking  you,  mem,  but  taking  advice  of  them 
as  is  competent  to  give  it,  I'll  take  my  time."  Found 
missus  dressing  herself  and  master  growling  as  usual.  Says 
missus,  quite  calm  and  easy-like,  "Mary,  we  begin  to 
pack  to-day."  "What  for,  mem?"  says  I,  taken  aback. 
"What's  that  hussy  asking?"  says  master  from  the  bed 
clothes  quite  savage-like.  "For  the  Continent  —  Italy," 
says  missus.  "  Can  you  go,  Mary  ?  "  Her  voice  was 
quite  gentle  and  saintlike,  but  I  knew  the  struggle  it  cost, 
and  says  I,  "With  you,  mem,  to  India's  torrid  clime,  if 
required,  but  with  African  Gorillas, "  says  I,  looking  toward 
the  bed,  "never."  "Leave  the  room,"  says  master,  start 
ing  up  and  catching  of  his  bootjack.  "Why,  Charles!" 
says  missus,  "how  you  talk!  "  affecting  surprise.  "Do  go, 
Mary,"  says  she,  slipping  a  half-crown  into  my  hand.  I 
left  the  room,  scorning  to  take  notice  of  the  odious  wretch's 
conduct. 

Cannot  say  whether  my  master  and  missus  were  ever 
legally  married.  What  with  the  dreadful  state  of  morals 
nowadays  and  them  stories  in  the  circulating  libraries,  in 
nocent  girls  don't  know  into  what  society  they  might  be 
obliged  to  take  situations.  Never  saw  missus's  marriage 
certificate,  though  I  have  quite  accidental-like  looked  in 
her  desk  when  open,  and  would  have  seen  it.  Do  not 
know  of  any  lovers  missus  might  have  had.  Believe  she 
had  a  liking  for  John  Thomas,  footman,  for  she  was  always 
spiteful-like  —  poor  lady  —  when  we  were  together  — 
though  there  was  nothing  between  us,  as  cook  well  knows, 
and  dare  not  deny,  and  missus  needn't  have  been  jealous. 
Have  never  seen  arsenic  or  Prussian  acid  in  any  of  the 
private  drawers  —  but  have  seen  paregoric  and  camphor. 
One  of  my  master's  friends  was  a  Count  Moscow,  a  Rus 
sian  papist  —  which  I  detested. 


NO   TITLE  161 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    SLIM    YOUNG    MAN'S    STORT 

I  am  by  profession  a  reporter,  and  writer  for  the  press. 
I  live  at  Pultneyville.  I  have  always  had  a  passion  for 
the  marvelous,  and  have  been  distinguished  for  my  facility 
in  tracing  out  mysteries,  and  solving  enigmatical  occur 
rences.  On  the  night  of  the  17th  June,  1845,  I  left  my 
office  and  walked  homeward.  The  night  was  bright  and. 
starlight.  I  was  revolving  in  my  mind  the  words  of  a 
singular  item  I  had  just  read  in  the  "Times."  I  had 
reached  the  darkest  portion  of  the  road,  and  found  myself 
mechanically  repeating:  "An  elderly  gentleman  a  week 
ago  left  his  lodgings  on  the  Kent  Road,"  when  suddenly 
I  heard  a  step  behind  me. 

I  turned  quickly,  with  an  expression  of  horror  in  my 
face,  and  by  the  light  of  the  newly  risen  moon  beheld  an 
elderly  gentleman,  with  green  cotton  umbrella,  approaching 
me.  His  hair,  which  was  snow  white,  was  parted  over  a 
broad,  open  forehead.  The  expression  of  his  face,  which 
was  slightly  flushed,  was  that  of  amiability  verging  almost 
upon  imbecility.  There  was  a  strange,  inquiring  look 
about  the  widely  opened  mild  blue  eye,  — a  look  that  might 
have  been  intensified  to  insanity  or  modified  to  idiocy.  As 
he  passed  me,  he  paused  and  partly  turned  his  face,  with 
a  gesture  of  inquiry.  I  see  him  still,  his  white  locks  blow 
ing  in  the  evening  breeze,  his  hat  a  little  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  his  figure  painted  in  relief  against  the  dark 
blue  sky. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  mild  eye  full  upon  me.  A 
weak  smile  played  about  his  thin  lips.  In  a  voice  which 
had  something  of  the  tremulousness  of  age  and  the  self- 


162  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

satisfied  chuckle  of  imbecility  in  it,  he  asked,  pointing  to 
the  rising  moon,  "  Why  1  —  Hush !  " 

He  had  dodged  behind  me,  and  appeared  to  be  looking 
anxiously  down  the  road.  I  could  feel  his  aged  frame 
jhaking  with  terror  as  he  laid  his  thin  hands  upon  my 
shoulders  and  faced  me  in  the  direction  of  the  supposed 
danger. 

"  Hush !  did  you  not  hear  them  coming  1 " 

I  listened;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  soughing  of  the 
roadside  trees  in  the  evening  wind.  I  endeavored  to  reas 
sure  him,  with  such  success  that  in  a  few  moments  the  old 
weak  smile  appeared  on  his  benevolent  face. 

"  Why  1 "  —  But  the  look  of  interrogation  was  succeeded 
by  a  hopeless  blankness. 

"  Why  ?  "  I  repeated  with  assuring  accents. 

"Why,"  he  said,  a  gleam  of  intelligence  flickering  over 
his  face,  "is  yondei1  moon,  as  she  sails  in  the  blue  empy 
rean,  casting  a  flood  of  light  o'er  hill  and  dale,  like  — 
Why,"  he  repeated,  with  a  feeble  smile,  "is  yonder  moon, 
as  she  sails  in  the  blue  empyrean "  —  He  hesitated,  — 
stammered,  —  and  gazed  at  me  hopelessly,  with  the  tears 
dripping  from  his  moist  and  widely  opened  eyes. 

I  took  his  hand  kindly  in  my  own.  "Casting  a  shadow 
o'er  hill  and  dale,"  I  repeated  quietly,  leading  him  up  to 
the  subject,  "like —  Come,  now." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  pressing  my  hand  tremulously,  "you 
know  it?" 

"I  do.  Why  is  it  like  —  the  —  eh  —  the  commodious 
mansion  on  the  Limehouse  Road  ?  " 

A  blank  stare  only  followed.      He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Like  the  young  men  wanted  for  a  light,  genteel  employ 
ment?" 

He  wagged  his  feeble  old  head  cunningly. 

"Or,  Mr.  Ward,"  I  said,  with  bold  confidence,  "lik« 
the  mysterious  disappearance  from  the  Kent  Road  1 " 


NO   TITLE  168 

The  moment  was  full  of  suspense.     He  did  not  seem  to 
hear  me.      Suddenly  he  turned. 
"Ha!" 
I  darted  forward.    But  he  had  vanished  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  IH 

NO.   27    LIMEHOUSE    ROAD 

It  was  a  hot  midsummer  evening.  Limehouse  Road  was 
deserted  save  by  dust  and  a  few  rattling  butchers'  carts, 
and  the  bell  of  the  muffin  and  crumpet  man.  A  commodi 
ous  mansion,  which  stood  on  the  right  of  the  road  as  you 
enter  Pultney  ville,  surrounded  by  stately  poplars  and  a  high 
fence  surmounted  by  a  cheval  de  frise  of  broken  glass, 
looked  to  the  passing  and  footsore  pedestrian  like  the  genius 
of  seclusion  and  solitude.  A  bill  announcing  in  the  usual 
terms  that  the  house  was  to  let  hung  from  the  bell  at  the 
servants'  entrance. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  closed,  and  the  long  shadows 
of  the  poplars  stretched  across  the  road,  a  man  carrying  a 
small  kettle  stopped  and  gazed,  first  at  the  bill  and  then  at 
the  house.  When  he  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  fence, 
he  again  stopped  and  looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the 
road.  Apparently  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  scrutiny, 
he  deliberately  sat  himself  down  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
fence,  and  at  once  busied  himself  in  some  employment,  so 
well  concealed  as  to  be  invisible  to  the  gaze  of  passers-by. 
At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  retired  cautiously. 

But  not  altogether  unseen.  A  slim  young  man,  with 
spectacles  and  notebook,  stepped  from  behind  a  tree  as  the 
retreating  figure  of  the  intruder  was  lost  in  the  twilight, 
and  transferred  from  the  fence  to  his  notebook  the  freshly 
stenciled  inscription,  "S— T— 1860— X." 


164  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

CHAPTER  IV 

COUNT    MOSCOW'S    NARRATIVE 

I  am  a  foreigner.  Observe !  To  be  a  foreigner  in  Eng 
land  is  to  be  mysterious,  suspicious,  intriguing.  M.  Col 
lins  has  requested  the  history  of  my  complicity  with  certain 
occurrences.  It  is  nothing,  bah!  absolutely  nothing. 

I  write  with  ease  and  fluency.  Why  should  I  not 
write  ?  Tra-la-la !  I  am  what  you  English  call  corpulent. 
Ha,  ha!  I  am  a  pupil  of  Macchiavelli.  I  find  it  much 
better  to  disbelieve  everything,  and  to  approach  my  subject 
and  wishes  circuitously  than  in  a  direct  manner.  You 
have  observed  that  playful  animal,  the  cat.  Call  it,  and 
it  does  not  come  to  you  directly,  but  rubs  itself  against  all 
the  furniture  in  the  room,  and  reaches  you  finally  —  and 
scratches.  Ah,  ha,  scratches!  I  am  of  the  feline  species. 
People  call  me  a  villain  —  bah ! 

I  know  the  family  living  No.  27  Limehouse  Road.  I 
respect  the  gentleman,  —  a  fine,  burly  specimen  of  your 
Englishman,  —  and  madame,  charming,  ravishing,  delight 
ful.  When  it  became  known  to  me  that  they  designed  to 
let  their  delightful  residence,  and  visit  foreign  shores,  I 
at  once  called  upon  them.  I  kissed  the  hand  of  madame. 
I  embraced  the  great  Englishman.  Madame  blushed 
slightly.  The  great  Englishman  shook  my  hand  like  a 
mastiff. 

I  began  in  that  dexterous,  insinuating  manner  of  which 
I  am  truly  proud.  I  thought  madame  was  ill.  Ah,  no. 
A  change,  then,  was  all  that  was  required.  I  sat  down  at 
the  piano  and  sang.  In  a  few  minutes  madame  retired. 
I  was  alone  with  my  friend. 

Seizing  his  hand,  I  began  with  every  demonstration  of 
courteous  sympathy.  I  do  not  repeat  my  words,  for  my 


NO   TITLE  165 

intention  was  conveyed  more  in  accent,  emphasis,  and  man 
ner,  than  speech.  I  hinted  to  him  that  he  had  another  wife 
living.  I  suggested  that  this  was  balanced  —  ha!  —  by  his 
wife's  lover.  That,  possibly,  he  wished  to  fly;  hence  the 
letting  of  his  delightful  mansion.  That  he  regularly  and 
systematically  beat  his  wife  in  the  English  manner,  and 
that  she  repeatedly  deceived  him.  I  talked  of  hope,  of 
consolation,  of  remedy.  I  carelessly  produced  a  bottle  of 
strychnine  and  a  small  vial  of  stramonium  from  my  pocket, 
and  enlarged  on  the  efficiency  of  drugs.  His  face,  which 
had  gradually  become  convulsed,  suddenly  became  fixed 
with  a  frightful  expression.  He  started  to  his  feet,  and 
roared,  "  You  d — d  Frenchman !  " 

I  instantly  changed  my  tactics,  and  endeavored  to  em 
brace  him.  He  kicked  me  twice,  violently.  I  begged  per 
mission  to  kiss  madame's  hand.  He  replied  by  throwing 
me  downstairs. 

I  am  in  bed  with  my  head  bound  up,  and  beefsteaks 
upon  my  eyes,  but  still  confident  and  buoyant.  I  have  not 
lost  faith  in  Macchiavelli.  Tra-la-la !  as  they  sing  in  the 
opera.  I  kiss  everybody's  hands. 

CHAPTER  V 

DR.    DTGGS'S    STATEMENT 

My  name  is  David  Diggs.  I  am  a  surgeon,  living  at 
No.  9  Tottenham  Court.  On  the  15th  of  June,  1854,  I 
was  called  to  see  an  elderly  gentleman  lodging  on  the 
Kent  Road.  Found  him  highly  excited,  with  strong  febrile 
symptoms,  pulse  120,  increasing.  Repeated  incoherently 
what  I  judged  to  be  the  popular  form  of  a  conundrum.  On 
closer  examination  found  acute  hydrocephalus,  and  both 
lobes  of  the  brain  rapidly  filling  with  water.  In  consulta 
tion  with  an  eminent  phrenologist,  it  was  further  discovered 


166  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

that  all  the  organs  were  more  or  less  obliterated,  except 
that  of  Comparison.  Hence  the  patient  was  enabled  to  only 
distinguish  the  most  common  points  of  resemblance  between 
objects,  without  drawing  upon  other  faculties,  such  as 
Ideality  or  Language,  for  assistance.  Later  in  the  day 
found  him  sinking,  —  being  evidently  unable  to  carry  the 
most  ordinary  conundrum  to  a  successful  issue.  Exhibited 
Tinct.  Val.,  Ext.  Opii,  and  Camphor,  and  prescribed  quiet 
and  emollients.  On  the  17th  the  patient  was  missing. 

CHAPTER  LAST 

STATEMENT    OF    THE    PUBLISHER 

On  the  18th  of  June,  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  left  a  roll  of 
manuscript  with  us  for  publication,  without  title  or  direc 
tion,  since  which  time  he  has  not  been  heard  from.  In 
spite  of  thtj  care  of  the  proof-readers,  and  valuable  literary 
assistance,  it  is  feared  that  the  continuity  of  the  story  has 
been  destroyed  by  some  accidental  misplacing  of  chapters 
during  its  progress.  How  and  what  chapters  are  so  mis 
placed,  the  publisher  leaves  to  an  indulgent  public  to  dis 
cover. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES 

BY    CH-S  R-DE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  Dodds  were  dead.  For  twenty  years  they  had  slept 
under  the  green  graves  of  Kittery  churchyard.  The  town- 
folk  still  spoke  of  them  kindly.  The  keeper  of  the  ale 
house,  where  David  had  smoked  his  pipe,  regretted  him 
regularly,  and  Mistress  Kitty,  Mrs.  Dodd's  maid,  whose 
trim  figure  always  looked  well  in  her  mistress's  gowns,  was 
inconsolable.  The  Hardins  were  in  America.  Raby  was 
aristocratically  gouty;  Mrs.  Raby,  religious.  Briefly,  then, 
we  have  disposed  of  — 

1.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dodd  (dead). 

2.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardin  (translated). 

3.  Raby,  baron  et  femme.      (Yet  I  don't  know  about  the 
former;  he  came  of  a  long-lived  family,  and  the  gout  is  an 
uncertain-disease. ) 

We  have  active  at  the  present  writing  (place  aux 
dames)  — 

1.  Lady  Caroline  Coventry,  niece  of  Sir  Frederick. 

2.  Faraday  Huxley    Little,   son    of    Henry    and   Graoo 
Little  deceased. 

Sequitur  to  the  above,  A  HERO  AND  HEROINE. 

CHAPTER  II 

On  the  death  of  his  parents,  Faraday  Little  was  taken 
to  Raby  Hall.  In  accepting  his  guardianship,  Mr.  Raby 


168  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

struggled  stoutly  against  two  prejudices:  Faraday  was  plain- 
looking  and  skeptical. 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  sweetheart,"  pleaded 
Jael,  interceding  for  the  orphan  with  arms  that  were  still 
beautiful.  "Dear  knows,  it  is  not  his  fault  if  he  does  not 
look  like  —  his  father,7'  she  added  with  a  great  gulp.  Jael 
was  a  woman,  and  vindicated  her  womanhood  by  never 
entirely  forgiving  a  former  rival. 

"It's  not  that  alone,  madam,"  screamed  Eaby,  "but, 
d — m  it,  the  little  rascal 's  a  scientist,  — an  atheist,  a  radi 
cal,  a  scoffer!  Disbelieves  in  the  Bible,  ma'am;  is  full  of 
this  Darwinian  stuff  about  natural  selection  and  descent. 
Descent,  forsooth!  In  my  day,  madam,  gentlemen  were 
content  to  trace  their  ancestors  back  to  gentlemen,  and  not 
to  —  monkeys !  " 

"Dear  heart,  the  boy  is  clever,"  urged  Jael. 

"  Clever !  "  roared  Kaby ;  "  what  does  a  gentleman  want 
with  cleverness  ? " 

CHAPTER  III 

Young  Little  was  clever.  At  seven  he  had  constructed 
a  telescope ;  at  nine,  a  flying-machine.  At  ten  he  saved  a 
valuable  life. 

Norwood  Park  was  the  adjacent  estate,  —  a  lordly  do 
main  dotted  with  red  deer  and  black  trunks,  but  scrupu 
lously  kept  with  graveled  roads  as  hard  and  blue  as  steel. 
There  Little  was  strolling  one  summer  morning,  meditating 
on  a  new  top  with  concealed  springs.  At  a  little  distance 
before  him  he  saw  the  flutter  of  lace  and  ribbons.  A 
young  lady,  a  very  young  lady,  —  say  of  seven  summers, 
—  tricked  out  in  the  crying  abominations  of  the  present 
fashion,  stood  beside  a  low  bush.  Her  nursery-maid  was 
not  present,  possibly  owing  to  the  fact  that  John  the  foot 
man  was  also  absent. 


HANDSOME   IS   AS   HANDSOME   DOES  169 

Suddenly  Little  came  towards  her.  "Excuse  me,  but 
do  you  know  what  those  berries  are  1  "  He  was  pointing 
to  the  low  bush  filled  with  dark  clusters  of  shining  —  sus 
piciously  shining  —  fruit. 

"Certainly;  they  are  blueberries." 

u  Pardon  me;  you  are  mistaken.  They  belong  to  quite 
another  family." 

Miss  Impudence  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height 
(exactly  three  feet  nine  and  a  half  inches),  and,  curling  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  of  scarlet  lip,  said  scornfully,  "  Your 
family,  perhaps." 

Faraday  Little  smiled  in  the  superiority  of  boyhood  over 
girlhood. 

"I  allude  to  the  classification.  That  plant  is  the  bella 
donna,  or  deadly  nightshade.  Its  alkaloid  is  a  narcotic 
poison." 

Sauciness  turned  pale.  "I  —  have  —  just  —  eaten  — 
some !  "  And  began  to  whimper.  "  Oh  dear,  what  shall  I 
do ?  >J  Then  did  it,  i.  e. ,  wrung  her  small  fingers,  and  cried 

•"Pardon  me  one  moment."  Little  passed  his  arm  around 
her  neck,  and  with  his  thumb  opened  widely  the  patrician- 
veined  lids  of  her  sweet  blue  eyes.  "  Thank  Heaven,  there 
is  yet  no  dilation  of  the  pupil ;  it  is  not  too  late ! "  He 
cast  a  rapid  glance  around.  The  nozzle  and  about  three 
feet  of  garden  hose  lay  near  him. 

"  Open  your  mouth,  quick !  " 

It  was  a  pretty,  kissable  mouth.  But  young  Little  meant 
business.  He  put  the  nozzle  down  her  pink  throat  as  far 
as  it  would  go. 

"Now,  don't  move." 

He  wrapped  his  handkerchief  around  a  hoop-stick.  Then 
he  inserted  both  in  the  other  end  of  the  stiff  hose.  It  fitted 
snugiy.  He  shoved  it  in  and  then  drew  it  back. 

Nature  abhors  a  vacuum.  The  young  patrician  was  as 
amenable  to  this  law  as  the  child  of  the  lowest  peasant. 


170  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

She  succumbed.  It  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  Then  she 
burst  into  a  small  fury. 

"You  nasty,  bad  —  ugly  boy." 

Young  Little  winced,  but  smiled. 

"Stimulants,"  he  whispered  to  the  frightened  nursery 
maid,  who  approached;  "good-evening."  He  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  breach  between  young  Little  and  Mr.  Raby  was 
slowly  widening.  Little  found  objectionable  features  in 
the  Hall.  "This  black  oak  ceiling  and  wainscoting  is  not 
as  healthful  as  plaster;  besides,  it  absorbs  the  light.  The 
bedroom  ceiling  is  too  low;  the  Elizabethan  architects  knew 
nothing  of  ventilation.  The  color  of  that  oak  paneling 
which  you  admire  is  due  to  an  excess  of  carbon  and  the 
exuvia  from  the  pores  of  your  skin  "  — 

"Leave  the  house,"  bellowed  Raby,  "before  the  roof 
falls  on  your  sacrilegious  head !  " 

As  Little  left  the  house,  Lady  Caroline  and  a  handsome 
boy  of  about  Little's  age  entered.  Lady  Caroline  recoiled, 
and  then  —  blushed.  Little  glared;  he  instinctively  felt 
the  presence  of  a  rival. 

CHAPTER  V 

Little  worked  hard.  He  studied  night  and  day.  In 
five  years  he  became  a  lecturer,  then  a  professor. 

He  soared  as  high  as  the  clouds,  he  dipped  as  low  as  the 
cellars  of  the  London  poor.  He  analyzed  the  London  fog, 
and  found  it  two  parts  smoke,  one  disease,  one  unmention 
able  abominations.  He  published  a  pamphlet,  which  was 
violently  attacked.  Then  he  knew  he  had  done  some 
thing. 


HANDSOME   IS   AS    HANDSOME    DOES  171 

But  he  had  not  forgotten  Caroline.  He  was  walking 
one  day  in  the  Zoological  Gardens,  and  he  came  upon  a 
pretty  picture,  —  flesh  and  blood,  too. 

Lady  Caroline  feeding  buns  to  the  bears!  An  exquisite 
thrill  passed  through  his  veins.  She  turned  her  sweet  face 
and  their  eyes  met.  They  recollected  their  first  meeting 
seven  years  before,  but  it  was  his  turn  to  be  shy  and  timid. 
"Wonderful  power  of  age  and  sex !  She  met  him  with  per 
fect  self-possession. 

"Well  meant,  but  indigestible,  I  fear "  (he  alluded  to  the 
buns). 

"  A  clever  person  like  yourself  can  easily  correct  that " 
(she,  the  slyboots,  was  thinking  of  something  else). 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  chatting  gayly.  Little 
eagerly  descanted  upon  the  different  animals;  she  listened 
with  delicious  interest.  An  hour  glided  delightfully  away. 

After  this  sunshine,  clouds. 

To  them  suddenly  entered  Mr.  Baby  and  a  handsome 
young  man.  The  gentlemen  bowed  stiffly  and  looked  vi 
cious —  as  they  felt.  The  lady  of  this  quartette  smiled 
amiably  —  as  she  did  not  feel. 

"Looking  at  your  ancestors,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Raby, 
pointing  to  the  monkeys;  "we  will  not  disturb  you. 
Come."  And  he  led  Caroline  away. 

Little  was  heart-sick.  He  dared  not  follow  them.  But 
an  hour  later  he  saw  something  which  filled  his  heart  with 
bliss  unspeakable. 

Lady  Caroline,  with  a  divine  smile  on  her  face,  feeding 
the  monkeys ! 

CHAPTER  VI 

Encouraged  by  love,  Little  worked  hard  upon  his  new 
flying-machine.  His  labors  were  lightened  by  talking  of 
the  beloved  one  with  her  French  maid  The'rese,  whom  he 


172  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

had  discreetly  bribed.  Mademoiselle  The'rese  was  venal, 
like  all  her  class,  but  in  this  instance  I  fear  she  was  not 
bribed  by  British  gold.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the 
British  mind,  it  was  British  genius,  British  eloquence, 
British  thought,  that  brought  her  to  the  feet  of  this  young 
savan. 

"I  believe,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  one  day,  interrupting 
her  maid  in  a  glowing  eulogium  upon  the  skill  of  "M. 
Leetell,"  —  "I  believe  you  are  in  love  with  this  professor." 
A  quick  flush  crossed  the  olive  cheek  of  The'rese,  which 
Lady  Caroline  afterward  remembered. 

The  eventful  day  of  trial  came.  The  public  were  gath 
ered,  impatient  and  scornful  as  the  pig-headed  public  are 
apt  to  be.  In  the  open  area  a  long  cylindrical  balloon,  in 
shape  like  a  Bologna  sausage,  swayed  above  the  machine, 
from  which,  like  some  enormous  bird  caught  in  a  ne.t,  it 
tried  to  free  itself.  A  heavy  rope  held  it  fast  to  the 
ground. 

Little  was  waiting  for  the  ballast,  when  his  eye  caught 
Lady  Caroline's  among  the  spectators.  The  glance  was  ap 
pealing.  In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side. 

"I  should  like  so  much  to  get  into  the  machine,"  said 
the  arch-hypocrite  demurely. 

"Are  you  engaged  to  marry  young  Kaby?"  said  Little 
bluntly. 

"As  you  please,"  she  said  with  a  curtsy;  "do  I  take 
this  as  a  refusal  ?  " 

Little  was  a  gentleman.  He  lifted  her  and  her  lap-dog 
into  the  car. 

"How  nice!  it  won't  go  off?  " 

"No,  the  rope  is  strong,  and  the  ballast  is  not  yet  in." 

A  report  like  a  pistol,  a  cry  from  the  spectators,  a  thou 
sand  hands  stretched  to  grasp  the  parted  rope,  and  the  bal 
loon  darted  upward. 

Only  one  hand  of  that  thousand  caught    the  rope,  — 


HANDSOME   IS   AS   HANDSOME   DOES  173 

Little's!  But  in  the  same  instant  the  horror-stricken  spec 
tators  saw  him  whirled  from  his  feet  and  borne  upward, 
still  clinging  to  the  rope,  into  space. 


CHAPTER  VII  i 

Lady  Caroline  fainted.  The  cold,  watery  nose  of  her 
dog  on  her  cheek  brought  her  to  herself.  She  dared  not 
look  over  the  edge  of  the  car ;  she  dared  not  look  up  to  the 
bellowing  monster  above  her,  bearing  her  to  death.  She 
threw  herself  on  the  bottom  of  the  car,  and  embraced  the 
only  living  thing  spared  her, —  the  poodle.  Then  she  cried. 
Then  a  clear  voice  came  apparently  out  of  the  circumambi 
ent  air,  — 

"May  I  trouble  you  to  look  at  the  barometer? " 

She  put  her  head  over  the  car.  Little  was  hanging  at 
the  end  of  a  long  rope.  She  put  her  head  back  again. 

In  another  moment  he  saw  her  perplexed,  blushing  face 
over  the  edge,  —  blissful  sight. 

"Oh,  please  don't  think  of  coming  up!   Stay  there,  do! " 

Little  stayed.  Of  course  she  could  make  nothing  out  of 
iche  barometer,  and  said  so.  Little  smiled. 

"Will  you  kindly  send  it  down  to  me? " 

But  she  had  no  string  or  cord.  Finally  she  said,  "Wait 
a  moment." 

Little  waited.  This  time  her  face  did  not  appear.  The 
barometer  came  slowly  down  at  the  end  of  —  a  stay-lace. 

The  barometer  showed  a  frightful  elevation.  Little 
looked  up  at  the  valve  and  said  nothing.  Presently  he 
heard  a  sigh.  Then  a  sob.  Then,  rather  sharply,  — 

"Why  don't  you  do  something?" 

A  The  right  of  dramatization  of  this  and  succeeding  chapters  is  reserved 
t/  the  writer. 


174  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Little  came  up  the  rope  hand  over  hand.  Lady  Caroline 
crouched  in  the  farther  side  of  the  car.  Fido,  the  poodle, 
whined. 

"Poor  thing,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  "it's  hungry." 

"Do  you  wish  to  save  the  dog1? "  said  Little. 

"Yes." 

"Give  me  your  parasol." 

She  handed  Little  a  good-sized  affair  of  lace  and  silk  and 
whalebone.  (None  of  your  "sunshades.")  Little  ex 
amined  its  ribs  carefully. 

"Give  me  the  dog." 

Lady  Caroline  hurriedly  slipped  a  note  under  the  dog's 
collar,  and  passed  over  her  pet. 

Little  tied  the  dog  to  the  handle  of  the  parasol  and 
launched  them  both  into  space.  The  next  moment  they 
were  slowly,  but  tranquilly,  sailing  to  the  earth. 

"A  parasol  and  a  parachute  are  distinct,  but  not  differ 
ent.  Be  not  alarmed,  he  will  get  his  dinner  at  some  farm 
house." 

"  Where  are  we  now  1 " 

"That  opaque  spot  you  see  is  London  fog.  Those  twin 
clouds  are  North  and  South  America.  Jerusalem  and 
Madagascar  are  those  specks  to  the  right." 

Lady  Caroline  moved  nearer;  she  was  becoming  inter 
ested.  Then  she  recalled  herself,  and  said  freezingly,  "  How 
are  we  going  to  descend  1 " 

"By  opening  the  valve." 

"Why  don't  you  open  it  then? " 

"  BECAUSE  THE  VALVE-STRING  is  BROKEN  ! " 


HANDSOME    IS   AS    HANDSOME    DOES  175 


CHAPTER  IX 

Lady  Caroline  fainted.      When  she  revived  it  was  dart 
They  were  apparently  cleaving  their  way  through  a  solid 
block  of  black  marble.      She  moaned  and  shuddered. 

"I  wish  we  had  a  light." 

"I  have  no  lucifers,"  said  Little.  "I  observe,  however, 
that  you  wear  a  necklace  of  amber.  Amber  under  certain 
conditions  becomes  highly  electrical.  Permit  me." 

He  took  the  amber  necklace  and  rubbed  it  briskly. 
Then  he  asked  her  to  present  her  knuckle  to  the  gem.  A 
bright  spark  was  the  result.  This  was  repeated  for  some 
hours.  The  light  was  not  brilliant,  but  it  was  enough 
for  the  purposes  of  propriety,  and  satisfied  the  delicately 
minded  girl. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  tearing,  hissing  noise  and  a  smell 
of  gas.  Little  looked  up  and  turned  pale.  The  balloon, 
at  what  I  shall  call  the  pointed  end  of  the  Bologna  sausage, 
was  evidently  bursting  from  increased  pressure.  The  gas 
•was  escaping,  and  already  they  were  beginning  to  descend. 
Little  was  resigned  but  firm. 

"If  the  silk  gives  way,  then  we  are  lost.  Unfortunately 
I  have  no  rope  nor  material  for  binding  it." 

The  woman's  instinct  had  arrived  at  the  same  conclu 
sion  sooner  than  the  man's  reason.  But  she  was  hesitating 
over  a  detail. 

"  Will  you  go  down  the  rope  for  a  moment  ? "  she  said, 
with  a  sweet  smile. 

Little  went  down.  Presently  she  called  to  him.  She 
held  something  in  her  hand,  —  a  wonderful  invention  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  improved  and  perfected  in  this: 
a  pyramid  of  sixteen  circular  hoops  of  light  yet  strong  steel, 
attached  to  each  other  by  cloth  bands. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Little  seized  them,  climbed  to  the 


176  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

balloon,  and  fitted  the  elastic  hoops  over  its  conical  end. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  car. 

"We  are  saved."  Lady  Caroline,  blushing,  gathered 
her  slim  but  antique  drapery  against  the  other  end  of  the 
car. 

CHAPTER  X 

They  were  slowly  descending.  Presently  Lady  Caro 
line  distinguished  the  outlines  of  Eaby  Hall. 

"I  think  I  will  get  out  here,"  she  said. 

Little  anchored  the  balloon,  and  prepared  to  follow  her. 

"Not  so,  my  friend,"  she  said,  with  an  arch  smile. 
"We  must  not  be  seen  together.  People  might  talk. 
Farewell." 

Little  sprang  again  into  the  balloon  and  sped  away  to 
America.  He  came  down  in  California,  oddly  enough  in 
front  of  Hardin 's  door,  at  Dutch  Flat.  Hardin  was  just 
examining  a  specimen  of  ore. 

"You  are  a  scientist;  can  you  tell  me  if  that  is  worth 
anything  1 "  he  said,  handing  it  to  Little. 

Little  held  it  to  the  light.  "  It  contains  ninety  per  cent, 
of  silver." 

Hardin  embraced  him.  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you, 
and  why  are  you  here  ?  " 

Little  told  his  story.  Hardin  asked  to  see  the  rope. 
Then  he  examined  it  carefully. 

"  Ah,  this  was  cut,  not  broken !  " 

"With  a  knife1?  "  asked  Little. 

"No.  Observe  both  sides  are  equally  indented.  It  was 
done  with  a  scissors  !  " 

"  Just  Heaven !  "  gasped  Little.      "  Th&ese ! " 


HANDSOME   IS   AS   HANDSOME  DOES  177 


CHAPTER  XI 

Little  returned  to  London.  Passing  through  London 
one  day  he  met  a  dog-fancier. 

"  Buy  a  nice  poodle,  sir  1 " 

Something  in  the  animal  attracted  his  attention. 

"Fido!"  he  gasped. 

The  dog  yelped. 

Little  bought  him.  On  taking  off  his  collar  a  piece  of 
paper  rustled  to  the  floor.  He  knew  the  handwriting  and 
kissed  it.  It  ran :  — 

To  THE  HONORABLE  AUGUSTUS  KABY  —  I  cannot 
marry  you.  If  I  marry  any  one  [sly  puss]  it  will  be  the 
man  who  has  twice  saved  my  life,  Professor  Little. 

CAROLINE  COVENTRY. 

And  she  did. 


LOTHAW 

OR 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  IN  SEARCH  OF 
A  RELIGION 

BY    MR.    BENJAMINS 

CHAPTER  I 

"I  REMEMBER  him  a  little  boy,"  said  the  Duchess. 
"  His  mother  was  a  dear  friend  of  mine  ;  you  know  she 
was  one  of  my  bridesmaids." 

"  And  you  have  never  seen  him  since,  mamma  ?  "  asked 
the  oldest  married  daughter,  who  did  not  look  a  day  older 
than  her  mother. 

"  Never  ;  he  was  an  orphan  shortly  after.  I  have  often 
reproached  myself,  but  it  is  so  difficult  to  see  boys." 

This  simple  yet  first  -  class  conversation  existed  in  the 
morning-room  of  Plusham,  where  the  mistress  of  the  pala 
tial  mansion  sat  involved  in  the  sacred  privacy  of  a  circle 
of  her  married  daughters.  One  dexterously  applied  golden 
knitting-needles  to  the  fabrication  of  a  purse  of  floss  silk  of 
the  rarest  texture,  which  none  who  knew  the  almost  fabu 
lous  wealth  of  the  Duke  would  believe  was  ever  destined  to 
hold  in  its  silken  meshes  a  less  sum  than  £1,000,000; 
another  adorned  a  slipper  exclusively  with  seed  pearls  ;  a 
third  emblazoned  a  page  with  rare  pigments  and  the  finest 
quality  of  gold  leaf.  Beautiful  forms  leaned  over  frames 
glowing  with  embroidery,  and  beautiful  frames  leaned  over 
forms  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl.  Others,  more  remote, 
occasionally  burst  into  melody  as  they  tried  the  passages  of 


LOTH  AAV  179 

a  new  and  exclusive  air  given  to  them  in  MS.  by  some  titled 
and  devoted  friend,  for  the  private  use  of  the  aristocracy 
alone,  and  absolutely  prohibited  for  publication. 

The  Duchess,  herself  the  superlative  of  beauty,  wealth^ 
and  position,  was  married  to  the  highest  noble  in  the  Three 
Kingdoms.  Those  who  talked  about  such  matters  said  that 
their  progeny  were  exactly  like  their  parents,  —  a  peculiar 
ity  of  the  aristocratic  and  wealthy.  They  all  looked  like 
brothers  and  sisters,  except  their  parents,  who,  such  was 
their  purity  of  blood,  the  perfection  of  their  manners,  and 
the  opulence  of  their  condition,  might  have  been  taken  for 
their  own  children's  elder  son  and  daughter.  The  daugh 
ters,  with  one  exception,  were  all  married  to  the  highest 
nobles  in  the  land.  That  exception  was  the  Lady  Corian 
der,  who,  there  being  no  vacancy  above  a  marquis  and  a 
rental  of  £1,000,000,  waited.  Gathered  around  the  refined 
and  sacred  circle  of  their  breakfast-table,  with  their  glitter 
ing  coronets,  which,  in  filial  respect  to  their  father's  Tory 
instincts  and  their  mother's  Ritualistic  tastes,  they  always 
wore  on  their  regal  brows,  the  effect  was  dazzling  as  it  was 
refined.  It  was  this  peculiarity  and  their  strong  family 
resemblance  which  led  their  brother  -  in  -  law,  the  good- 
humored  St.  Addlegourd,  to  say  that,  "  'Pon  my  soul,  you 
know,  the  whole  precious  mob  looked  like  a  ghastly  pack 
of  court  cards,  you  know."  St.  Addlegourd  was  a  radical. 
Having  a  rent-roll  of  £15,000,000,  and  belonging  to  one  of 
the  oldest  families  in  Britain,  he  could  afford  to  be. 

"Mamma,  I've  just  dropped  a  pearl,"  said  the  Lady 
Coriander,  bending  over  the  Persian  hearth-rug. 

"  From  your  lips,  sweet  friend  ?  "  said  Lothaw,  who  came 
of  age  and  entered  the  room  at  the  same  moment. 

"  No,  from  my  work.  It  was  a  very  valuable  pearl, 
mamma;  papa  gave  Isaacs  Sons  £50,000  for  the  two." 

"  Ah,  indeed,"  said  the  Duchess,  languidly  rising  ;  "  let 
us  go  to  luncheon." 


180  CONDENSED  NOVELS 

"  But,  your  Grace,"  interposed  Lothaw,  who  was  still 
quite  young,  and  had  dropped  on  all  fours  on  the  carpet  in 
search  of  the  missing  gem,  "  consider  the  value  "  — 

"  Dear  friend,"  interposed  the  Duchess  with  infinite  tact, 
gently  lifting  him  by  the  tails  of  his  dress  coat,  "  I  am  wait 
ing  for  your  arm." 

CHAPTER  II 

Lothaw  was  immensely  rich.  The  possessor  of  seventeen 
castles,  fifteen  villas,  nine  shooting-boxes,  and  seven  town 
houses,  he  had  other  estates  of  which  he  had  not  even  heard. 

Everybody  at  Plusham  played  croquet,  and  none  badly. 
Next  to  their  purity  of  blood  and  great  wealth,  the  family 
were  famous  for  this  accomplishment.  Yet  Lothaw  soon 
tired  of  the  game,  and  after  seriously  damaging  his  aristo 
cratically  large  foot  in  an  attempt  to  "  tight  croquet "  the 
Lady  Aniseed's  ball,  he  limped  away  to  join  the  Duchess. 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  hennery,"  she  said. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  ;  I  dearly  love  fowls  —  broiled," 
he  added  thoughtfully. 

"  The  Duke  gave  Lady  Montairy  some  large  Cochins  the 
other  day,"  continued  the  Duchess,  changing  the  subject 
with  delicate  tact. 

"Lady  Montairy 
Quite  contrairy, 
How  do  your  Cochins  grow  ?  " 

§ang  Lothaw  gayly. 

The  Duchess  looked  shocked.  After  a  prolonged  silence 
Lothaw  abruptly  and  gravely  said  :  — 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  when  I  come  into  my  property  I 
should  like  to  build  some  improved  dwellings  for  the  poor, 
and  marry  Lady  Coriander." 

"  You  amaze  me,  dear  friend ;  and  yet  both  your  aspira 
tions  are  noble  and  eminently  proper,"  said  the  Duchesa 


LOTH  AW  181 

0  Coriander  is  but  a  child,  —  and  yet,"  she  added,  looking 
graciously  upon  her  companion,  "  for  the  matter  of  that,  so 
*re  you." 

CHAPTER  HI 

Mr.  Putney  Giles's  was  Lothaw's  first  grand  dinner-party. 
Yet,  by  carefully  watching  the  others,  he  managed  to  acquit 
himself  creditably,  and  avoided  drinking  out  of  the  finger- 
bowl  by  first  secretly  testing  its  contents  with  a  spoon, 
The  conversation  was  peculiar  and  singularly  interesting. 

"  Then  you  think  that  monogamy  is  simply  a  question  of 
the  thermometer  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Putney  Giles  to  her  com 
panion. 

"  I  certainly  think  that  polygamy  should  be  limited  by 
isothermal  lines,"  replied  Lothaw. 

"  I  should  say  it  was  a  matter  of  latitude,"  observed  a 
loud,  talkative  man  opposite.  He  was  an  Oxford  professor 
with  a  taste  for  satire,  and  had  made  himself  very  obnoxious 
to  the  company,  during  dinner,  by  speaking  disparagingly 
of  a  former  well-known  chancellor  of  the  exchequer,  —  a 
great  statesman  and  brilliant  novelist,  —  whom  he  feared 
and  hated. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sensation  in  the  room  ;  among  the 
females  it  absolutely  amounted  to  a  nervous  thrill.  His 
Eminence,  the  Cardinal,  was  announced.  He  entered  with 
great  suavity  of  manner,  and  after  shaking  hands  with 
everybody,  asking  after  their  relatives,  and  chucking  the 
more  delicate  females  under  the  chin  with  a  high-bred  grace 
peculiar  to  his  profession,  he  sat  down,  saying,  "  And  how 
do  we  all  find  ourselves  this  evening,  my  dears  ?  "  in  sev 
eral  different  languages,  which  he  spoke  fluently. 

Lothaw's  heart  was  touched.  His  deeply  religious  con 
victions  were  impressed.  He  instantly  went  up  to  this 
gifted  being,  confessed,  and  received  absolution.  "To- 


182  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

morrow,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  will  partake  of  the  com. 
munion,  and  endow  the  Church  with  my  vast  estates.  For 
the  present  I  '11  let  the  improved  cottages  go." 

CHAPTER  IV 

As  Lothaw  turned  to  leave  the  Cardinal,  he  was  struck 
by  a  beautiful  face.  It  was  that  of  a  matron,  slim  but 
shapely  as  an  Ionic  column.  Her  face  was  Grecian,  with 
Corinthian  temples  ;  Hellenic  eyes  that  looked  from  jutting 
eyebrows,  like  dormer-windows  in  an  Attic  forehead,  com 
pleted  her  perfect  Athenian  outline.  She  wore  a  black 
frock-coat  tightly  buttoned  over  her  bloomer  trousers,  and  a 
standing  collar. 

"  Your  lordship  is  struck  by  that  face  ?  "  said  a  social 
parasite. 

"  I  am  ;   who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Mary  Ann.  She  is  married  to  an  Ameri 
can,  and  has  lately  invented  a  new  religion." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Lothaw  eagerly,  with  difficulty  restraining 
himself  from  rushing  toward  her. 

"  Yes  ;  shall  I  introduce  you  ?  " 

Lothaw  thought  of  Lady  Coriander's  High  Church  pro 
clivities,  of  the  Cardinal,  and  hesitated  :  "  No,  I  thank 
you,  not  now." 

CHAPTER  V 

Lothaw  was  maturing.  He  had  attended  two  womens' 
rights  conventions,  three  Fenian  meetings,  had  dined  at 
White's,  and  had  danced  vis-a-vis  to  a  prince  of  the  blood, 
and  eaten  off  gold  plates  at  Crecy  House. 

His  stables  were  near  Oxford,  and  occupied  more  ground 
than  the  University.  He  was  driving  over  there  one  day, 
when  lie  perceived  some  rustics  and  menials  endeavoring 


LOTH  AW  183 

to  stop  a  pair  of  runaway  horses  attached  to  a  carriage  in 
which  a  lady  and  gentleman  were  seated.  Calmly  awaiting 
the  termination  of  the  accident,  with  high-bred  courtesy 
Lothaw  forhore  to  interfere  until  the  carriage  was  over 
turned,  the  occupants  thrown  out,  and  the  runaways  se 
cured  by  the  servants,  when  he  advanced  and  offered  the 
lady  the  exclusive  use  of  his  Oxford  stables. 

Turning  upon  him  a  face  whose  perfect  Hellenic  details 
he  remembered,  she  slowly  dragged  a  gentleman  from  under 
the  wheels  into  the  light,  and  presented  him  with  ladylike 
dignity  as  her  husband,  Major-General  Camperdown,  an 
American. 

"  Ah,"  said  Lothaw  carelessly,  "  I  believe  I  have  some 
land  there.  If  I  mistake  not,  my  agent,  Mr.  Putney 
Giles,  lately  purchased  the  State  of  —  Illinois  —  I  think 
you  call  it.'7 

"Exactly.  As  a  former  resident  of  the  city  of  Chicago, 
let  me  introduce  myself  as  your  tenant." 

Lothaw  bowed  graciously  to  the  gentleman,  who,  except 
that  he  seemed  better  dressed  than  most  Englishmen,  showed 
no  other  signs  of  inferiority  and  plebeian  extraction. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  Lothaw  to  the  lady  as  she 
leaned  on  his  arm,  while  they  visited  his  stables,  the  LTni- 
versity,  and  other  places  of  interest  in  Oxford.  "  Pray  tell 
me,  what  is  this  new  religion  of  yours  ?  " 

"  It  is  Woman  Suffrage,  Free  Love,  Mutual  Affinity,  and 
Communism.  Embrace  it  and  me." 

Lothaw  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do.  She,  how 
ever,  soothed  and  sustained  his  agitated  frame,  and  sealed 
with  an  embrace  his  speechless  form.  The  General  ap 
proached  and  coughed  slightly  with  gentlemanly  tact. 

"  My  husband  will  be  too  happy  to  talk  with  you  further 
on  this  subject,"  she  said  with  quiet  dignity,  as  she  regained 
the  General's  side.  "  Come  with  us  to  Oneida.  Brook 
Farm  is  a  thing  of  the  past." 


184  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  Lothaw  drove  toward  his  country-seat,  The  Mural 
Inclosure,  he  observed  a  crowd,  apparently  of  the  work 
ing-class,  gathered  around  a  singular-looking  man  in  the 
picturesque  garb  of  an  Ethiopian  serenader.  "  What  does 
he  say  ?  "  inquired  Lothaw  of  his  driver. 

The  man  touched  his  hat  respectfully,  and  said,  "  My 
Mary  Ann." 

"  '  My  Mary  Ann  ! ' :  Lothaw's  heart  beat  rapidly. 
Who  was  this  mysterious  foreigner  ?  He  had  heard  from 
Lady  Coriander  of  a  certain  Popish  plot;  but  could  he 
connect  Mr.  Camperdown  with  it  ? 

The  spectacle  of  two  hundred  men  at  arms,  who  advanced 
to  meet  him  at  the  gates  of  The  Mural  Inclosure,  drove 
all  else  from  the  still  youthful  and  impressible  mind  of 
Lothaw.  Immediately  behind  them,  on  the  steps  of  the 
baronial  halls,  were  ranged  his  retainers,  led  by  the  chief 
cook  and  bottle-washer  and  head  crumb-remover.  On 
either  side  were  two  companies  of  laundry-maids,  preceded 
by  the  chief  crimper  and  fluter,  supporting  a  long  Ancestral 
Line,  on  which  depended  the  family  linen,  and  under  which 
the  youthful  lord  of  the  manor  passed  into  the  halls  of  his 
fathers.  Twenty-four  scullions  carried  the  massive  gold 
and  silver  plate  of  the  family  on  their  shoulders,  and  de 
posited  it  at  the  feet  of  their  master.  The  spoons  were 
then  solemnly  counted  by  the  steward,  and  the  perfect  cere 
mony  ended. 

Lothaw  sighed.  He  sought  out  the  gorgeously  gilded 
"Taj,"  or  sacred  mausoleum  erected  to  his  grandfather  in 
the  second-story  front  room,  and  wept  over  the  man  he  did 
not  know. 

He  wandered  alone  in  his  magnificent  park,  and  then, 
throwing  himself  on  a  grassy  bank,  pondered  on  the  Great 


LOTHAW  185 

First  Cause  and  the  necessity  of  religion.  "  I  will  send 
Mary  Ann  a  handsome  present/ '  said  Lothaw  thought 
fully. 

CHAPTER  VII 

"  Each  of  these  pearls,  my  lord,  is  worth  fifty  thousand 
guineas,"  said  Mr.  Amethyst,  the  fashionable  jeweler,  as  he 
lightly  lifted  a  large  shovelful  from  a  convenient  bin  behind 
his  counter. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Lothaw  carelessly,  "  I  should  prefer  to 
see  some  expensive  ones." 

"  Some  number  sixes,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Amethyst, 
taking  a  couple  from  the  apex  of  a  small  pyramid  that  lay 
piled  on  the  shelf.  "  These  are  about  the  size  of  the 
Duchess  of  Billingsgate's,  but  they  are  in  finer  condition. 
The  fact  is,  her  Grace  permits  her  two  children,  the  Mar 
quis  of  Smithfield  and  the  Duke  of  St.  Giles,  —  two  sweet 
pretty  boys,  my  lord,  —  to  use  them  as  marbles  in  their 
games.  Pearls  require  some  attention,  and  I  go  down  there 
regularly  twice  a  week  to  clean  them.  Perhaps  your  lord 
ship  would  like  some  ropes  of  pearls  ?  " 

"About  half  a  cable's  length,"  said  Lothaw  shortly, 
"  and  send  them  to  my  lodgings." 

Mr.  Amethyst  became  thoughtful.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have 
not  the  exact  number  —  that  is  —  excuse  me  one  moment. 
I  will  run  over  to  the  Tower  and  borrow  a  few  from  the 
crown  jewels."  And  before  Lothaw  could  prevent  him,  he 
seized  his  hat  and  left  Lothaw  alone. 

His  position  certainly  was  embarrassing.  He  could  not 
move  without  stepping  on  costly  gems  which  had  rolled 
from  the  counter  ;  the  rarest  diamonds  lay  scattered  on  the 
shelves ;  untold  fortunes  in  priceless  emeralds  lay  within 
his  grasp.  Although  such  was  the  aristocratic  purity  of  his 
blood  and  the  strength  of  his  religious  convictions  that  h» 


186  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

probably  would  not  have  pocketed  a  single  diamond,  still  he 
could  not  help  thinking  that  he  might  be  accused  of  taking 
some.  "You  can  search  me,  if  you  like,"  he  said  when 
Mr.  Amethyst  returned  ;  "  but  I  assure  you,  upon  the  honor 
of  a  gentleman,  that  I  have  taken  nothing." 

"  Enough,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Amethyst,  with  a  low 
bow ;  "  we  never  search  the  aristocracy." 

CHAPTER  VIII 

As  Lothaw  left  Mr.  Amethyst's,  he  ran  against  General 
Camperdown.  "  How  is  Mary  Ann  ? "  he  asked  hur 
riedly. 

"  I  regret  to  state  that  she  is  dying,"  said  the  General, 
with  a  grave  voice,  as  he  removed  his  cigar  from  his  lips, 
and  lifted  his  hat  to  Lothaw. 

"  Dying  !  "  said  Lothaw  incredulously. 

"  Alas,  too  true  !  "  replied  the  General.  "  The  engage 
ments  of  a  long  lecturing  season,  exposure  in  traveling  by 
railway  during  the  winter,  and  the  imperfect  nourishment 
afforded  by  the  refreshments  along  the  road,  have  told  on 
her  delicate  frame.  But  she  wants  to  see  you  before  she 
dies.  Here  is  the  key  of  my  lodging.  I  will  finish  my 
cigar  out  here." 

Lothaw  hardly  recognized  those  wasted  Hellenic  outlines 
as  he  entered  the  dimly  lighted  room  of  the  dying  woman. 
She  was  already  a  classic  ruin,  — as  wrecked  and  yet  as  per 
fect  as  the  Parthenon.  He  grasped  her  hand  silently. 

"  Open-air  speaking  twice  a  week,  and  saleratus  bread  in 
the  rural  districts,  have  brought  me  to  this,"  she  said  fee 
bly ;  "  but  it  is  well.  The  cause  progresses.  The  tyrant 
man  succumbs." 

Lothaw  could  only  press  her  hand. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing.  Don't  —  whatever  you  do  — 
become  a  Catholic." 


LOTH  AW  187 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  The  Church  does  not  recognize  divorce.  And  now 
embrace  me.  I  would  prefer  at  this  supreme  moment  to 
introduce  myself  to  the  next  world  through  the  medium  of 
the  best  society  in  this.  Good-by.  When  I  am  dead,  be 
good  enough  to  inform  my  husband  of  the  fact." 


CHAPTER  IX 

Lothaw  spent  the  next  six  months  on  an  Aryan  island, 
in  an  Aryan  climate,  and  with  an  Aryan  race. 

"  This  is  an  Aryan  landscape,"  said  his  host,  "  and 
that  is  a  Mary  Ann  statue."  It  was,  in  fact,  a  full-length 
figure  in  marble  of  Mrs.  General  Camperdown. 

"  If  you  please,  I  should  like  to  become  a  Pagan,"  said 
Lothaw,  one  day,  after  listening  to  an  impassioned  discourse 
on  Greek  art  from  the  lips  of  his  host. 

But  that  night,  on  consulting  a  well-known  spiritual 
medium,  Lothaw  received  a  message  from  the  late  Mrs. 
General  Camperdown,  advising  him  to  return  to  England. 
Two  days  later  he  presented  himself  at  Plusham. 

"  The  young  ladies  are  in  the  garden,"  said  the  Duchess. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  go  and  pick  a  rose  ?  "  she  added  with 
a  gracious  smile,  and  the  nearest  approach  to  a  wink  that 
was  consistent  with  her  patrician  bearing  and  aquiline  nose. 

Lothaw  went  and  presently  returned  with  the  blushing 
Coriander  upon  his  arm. 

"  Bless  you,  my  children,"  said  the  Duchess.  Then 
turning  to  Lothaw,  she  said  :  "  You  have  simply  fulfilled 
and  accepted  your  inevitable  destiny.  It  was  morally  im 
possible  for  you  to  marry  out  of  this  family.  For  the 
present,  the  Church  of  England  is  safe." 


THE  HAUNTED   MAtf 

BY    CH-R-S    D-CK-N-S. 
A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

PART  I 

THE    FIRST    PHANTOM 

DON'T  tell  me  that  it  was  n't  a  knocker.  I  had  seen  it 
often  enough,  and  I  ought  to  know.  So  ought  the  three- 
o'clock  beer,  in  dirty  high-lows,  swinging  himself  over  the 
railing,  or  executing  a  demoniacal  jig  upon  the  doorstep  ; 
so  ought  the  butcher,  although  butchers  as  a  general  thing 
are  scornful  of  such  trifles  ;  so  ought  the  postman,  to  whom 
knockers  of  the  most  extravagant  description  were  merely 
human  weaknesses,  that  were  to  be  pitied  and  used.  And 
so  ought  for  the  matter  of  that,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

But  then  it  was  such  a  knocker.  A  wild,  extravagant, 
and  utterly  incomprehensible  knocker.  A  knocker  so  mys 
terious  and  suspicious  that  policeman  X  37,  first  coming 
upon  it,  felt  inclined  to  take  it  instantly  in  custody,  but 
compromised  with  his  professional  instincts  by  sharply  and 
sternly  noting  it  with  an  eye  that  admitted  of  no  nonsense, 
but  confidently  expected  to  detect  its  secret  yet.  An  ugly 
knocker  ;  a  knocker  with  a  hard  human  face,  that  was  a 
type  of  the  harder  human  face  within.  A  human  face  that 
held  between  its  teeth  a  brazen  rod.  So  hereafter,  in  the 
mysterious  future  should  be  held,  etc.,  etc. 

But  if  the  knocker  had  a  fierce  human  aspect  in  the 
glare  of  day,  you  should  have  seen  it  at  night,  when  it 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN  189 

peered  out  of  the  gathering  shadows  and  suggested  an 
ambushed  figure  ;  when  the  light  of  the  street  lamps  fell 
upon  it,  and  wrought  a  play  of  sinister  expression  in  its 
hard  outlines;  when  it  seemed  to  wink  meaningly  at  a 
shrouded  figure  who,  as  the  night  fell  darkly,  crept  up  the 
steps  and  passed  into  the  mysterious  house ;  when  the 
swinging  door  disclosed  a  black  passage  into  which  the 
figure  seemed  to  lose  itself  and  become  a  part  of  the  mys 
terious  gloom ;  when  the  night  grew  boisterous  and  the 
fierce  wind  made  furious  charges  at  the  knocker,  as  if  to 
wrench  it  off  and  carry  it  away  in  triumph.  Such  a  night 
as  this. 

It  was  a  wild  and  pitiless  wind.  A  wind  that  had  com 
menced  life  as  a  gentle  country  zephyr,  but,  wandering 
through  manufacturing  towns,  had  become  demoralized,  and, 
reaching  the  city,  had  plunged  into  extravagant  dissipation 
and  wild  excesses.  A  roistering  wind  that  indulged  in 
Bacchanalian  shouts  on  the  street  corners,  that  knocked 
off  the  hats  from  the  heads  of  helpless  passengers,  and  then 
fulfilled  its  duties  by  speeding  away,  like  all  young  prodi 
gals,  —  to  sea. 

He  sat  alone  in  a  gloomy  library  listening  to  the  wind 
that  roared  in  the  chimney.  Around  him  novels  and  story 
books  were  strewn  thickly  ;  in  his  lap  he  held  one  with  its 
pages  freshly  cut,  and  turned  the  leaves  wearily  until  his 
eyes  rested  upon  a  portrait  in  its  frontispiece.  And  as  the 
wind  howled  the  more  fiercely,  and  the  darkness  without 
fell  blacker,  a  strange  and  fateful  likeness  to  that  portrait 
appeared  above  his  chair  and  leaned  upon  his  shoulder. 
The  Haunted  Man  gazed  at  the  portrait  and  sighed.  The 
figure  gazed  at  the  portrait  and  sighed  too. 

"  Here  again  ?  "   said  the  Haunted  Man. 

"  Here  again,"  it  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Another  novel  ?  " 

"  Another  novel/' 


190  CONDENSED    NOVELS 

"  The  old  story  ?  " 

"The  old  story." 

"  I  see  a  child,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  gazing  from  the 
pages  of  the  book  into  the  fire,  —  "  a  most  unnatural  child, 
a  model  infant.  It  is  prematurely  old  and  philosophic.  It 
dies  in  poverty  to  slow  music.  It  dies  surrounded  by  lux 
ury  to  slow  music.  It  dies  with  an  accompaniment  of 
golden  water  and  rattling  carts  to  slow  music.  Previous  to 
its  decease  it  makes  a  will ;  it  repeats  the  Lord's  Prayer,  it 
kisses  the  '  boofer  lady.'  That  child  "  — 

"  Is  mine,"  said  the  phantom. 

"  I  see  a  good  woman,  undersized.  I  see  several  charm 
ing  women,  but  they  are  all  undersized.  They  are  more  or 
less  imbecile  and  idiotic,  but  always  fascinating  and  under 
sized.  They  wear  coquettish  caps  and  aprons.  I  observe 
that  feminine  virtue  is  invariably  below  the  medium  height, 
and  that  it  is  always  simple  and  infantine.  These  wo 
men  "  — 

"  Are  mine." 

"  I  see  a  haughty,  proud,  and  wicked  lady.  She  is  tall 
and  queenly.  I  remark  that  all  proud  and  wicked  women 
are  tall  and  queenly.  That  \vonian  "  — 

"  Is  mine,"   said  the  phantom,  wringing  his  hands. 

"  I  see  several  things  continually  impending.  I  observe 
that  whenever  an  accident,  a  murder,  or  death  is  about  to 
happen,  there  is  something  in  the  furniture,  in  the  locality, 
in  the  atmosphere,  that  foreshadows  and  suggests  it  years 
in  advance.  I  cannot  say  that  in  real  life  I  have  noticed 
it,  —  the  perception  of  this  surprising  fact  belongs  "  — 

"  To  me  !  "  said  the  phantom.  The  Haunted  Man  con 
tinued,  in  a  despairing  tone,  — 

"  I  see  the  influence  of  this  in  the  magazines  and  daily 
papers ;  I  see  weak  imitators  rise  up  and  enfeeble  the  world 
with  senseless  formula.  I  am  getting  tired  of  it.  It  won't 
do,  Charles  !  it  won't  do  !  "  and  the  Haunted  Man  buried 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN  191 

his  head  in  his  hands  and  groaned.  The  figure  looked 
down  upon  him  sternly ;  the  portrait  in  the  frontispiece 
frowned  as  he  gazed. 

"  Wretched  man,"  said  the  phantom,  "  and  how  have 
these  things  affected  you  ?  " 

"  Once  I  laughed  and  cried,  but  then  I  was  younger. 
Now,  I  would  forget  them  if  I  could." 

"  Have  then  your  wish.  And  take  this  with  you,  man 
whom  I  renounce.  From  this  diay  henceforth  you  shall  live 
with  those  whom  I  displace.  Without  forgetting  me,  't  will 
be  your  lot  to  walk  through  life  as  if  we  had  not  met.  But 
first  you  shall  survey  these  scenes  that  henceforth  must  be 
yours.  At  one  to-night,  prepare  to  meet  the  phantom  I 
have  raised.  Farewell !  " 

The  sound  of  its  voice  seemed  to  fade  away  with  the 
dying  wind,  and  the  Haunted  Man  was  alone.  But  the 
firelight  flickered  gayly,  and  the  light  danced  on  the  walls, 
making  grotesque  figures  of  the  furniture. 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  said  the  Haunted  Man,  rubbing  his  hands 
gleefully ;  "  now  for  a  whiskey  punch  and  a  cigar." 

PART  II 

THE    SECOND    PHANTOM 

One !  The  stroke  of  the  far-off  bell  had  hardly  died 
before  the  front  door  closed  with  a  reverberating  clang. 
Steps  were  heard  along  the  passage;  the  library  door  swung 
open  of  itself,  and  the  Knocker  —  yes,  the  Knocker  — 
slowly  strode  into  the  room.  The  Haunted  Man  rubbed 
his  eyes,  —  no  !  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it,  —  it 
was  the  Knocker's  face,  mounted  on  a  misty,  almost  imper 
ceptible  body.  The  brazen  rod  was  transferred  from  its 
mouth  to  its  right  hand,  where  it  was  held  like  a  ghostly 
truncheon. 


192  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"  It 's  a  cold  evening,"  said  the  Haunted  Man. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  Goblin,  in  a  hard,  metallic  voice. 

"  It  must  be  pretty  cold  out  there,"  said  the  Haunted 
Man,  with  vague  politeness.  "  Do  you  ever  —  will  you  — « 
take  some  hot  water  and  brandy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Goblin. 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  it  cold,  by  way  of  change  ?  "  com 
tinued  the  Haunted  Man,  correcting  himself,  as  he  remem 
bered  the  peculiar  temperature  with  which  the  Goblin  was 
probably  familiar. 

"  Time  flies,"  said  the  Goblin  coldly.  "  We  have  no 
leisure  for  idle  talk.  Come  !  "  He  moved  his  ghostly 
truncheon  toward  the  window,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
other's  arm.  At  his  touch  the  body  of  the  Haunted  Man 
seemed  to  become  as  thin  and  incorporeal  as  that  of  the 
Goblin  himself,  and  together  they  glided  out  of  the  window 
into  the  black  and  blowy  night. 

In  the  rapidity  of  their  flight  the  senses  of  the  Haunted 
Man  seemed  to  leave  him.  At  length  they  stopped  sud 
denly. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?"  asked  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  battlemented  mediaeval  castle.  Gallant  men  in 
mail  ride  over  the  drawbridge,  and  kiss  their  gauntleted 
fingers  to  fair  ladies,  who  wave  their  lily  hands  in  return. 
I  see  fight  and  fray  and  tournament.  I  hear  roaring  heralds 
bawling  the  charms  of  delicate  women,  and  shamelessly 
proclaiming  their  lovers.  Stay.  I  see  a  Jewess  about  to 
leap  from  a  battlement.  I  see  knightly  deeds,  violence, 
rapine,  and  a  good  deal  of  blood.  I  've  seen  pretty  much 
the  same  at  Astley's." 

"  Look  again." 

"  I  see  purple  moors,  glens,  masculine  women,  bare-legged 
men,  priggish  book-worms,  more  violence,  physical  excel 
lence,  and  blood.  Always  blood,  —  and  the  superiority  of 
physical  attainments." 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN  193 

"  And  how  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  said  the  Goblin. 

The  Haunted  Man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  None  the 
better  for  being  carried  back  and  asked  to  sympathize  with 
a  barbarous  age." 

The  Goblin  smiled  and  clutched  his  arm  ;  they  again  sped 
rapidly  away  through  the  black  night,  and  again  halted. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  said  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  barrack-room,  with  a  mess-table,  and  a  group 
of  intoxicated  Celtic  officers  telling  funny  stories,  and  giving 
challenges  to  duel.  I  see  a  young  Irish  gentleman  capable 
of  performing  prodigies  of  valor.  I  learn  incidentally  that 
the  acme  of  all  heroism  is  the  cornetcy  of  a  dragoon  regi 
ment.  I  hear  a  good  deal  of  French  !  No,  thank  you," 
said  the  Haunted  Man  hurriedly,  as  he  stayed  the  waving 
hand  of  the  Goblin  ;  "  I  would  rather  not  go  to  the  Penin 
sula,  and  don't  care  to  have  a  private  interview  with 
Napoleon." 

Again  the  Goblin  flew  away  with  the  unfortunate  man, 
and  from  a  strange  roaring  below  them  he  judged  they  were 
above  the  ocean.  A  ship  hove  in  sight,  and  the  Goblin 
stayed  its  flight.  "  Look,"  he  said,  squeezing  his  compan 
ion's  arm. 

The  Haunted  Man  yawned.  "  Don't  you  think,  Charles, 
you  're  rather  running  this  thing  into  the  ground  ?  Of 
course  it's  very  moral  and  instructive,  and  all  that.  But 
ain't  there  a  little  too  much  pantomime  about  it  ?  Come 
now  !  " 

11  Look ! "  repeated  the  Goblin,  pinching  his  arm  male 
volently.  The  Haunted  Man  groaned. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  see  her  Majesty's  ship  Arethusa.      0 
course  I  am  familiar  with  her  stern  First  Lieutenant,  her 
eccentric  Captain,  her  one  fascinating  and  several  mischiev 
ous  midshipmen.      Of  course  I  know  it 's  a  splendid  thing 
to  see  all  this,  and  not  to  be  seasick.     Oh,  there,  the  young 
gentlemen  are  going  to  play  a  trick  on  the  purser.     For 


194  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

God's  sake,  let  us  go,"  and  the  unhappy  man  absolutelj 
dragged  the  Goblin  away  with  him. 

When  they  next  halted,  it  was  at  the  edge  of  a  broad 
and  boundless  prairie,  in  the  middle  of  an  oak  opening. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  without  waiting  for  his 
cue,  but  mechanically,  and  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson 
which  the  Goblin  had  taught  him,  —  "I  see  the  Noble 
Savage.  He  is  very  fine  to  look  at !  But  I  observe,  under 
his  war-paint,  feathers,  and  picturesque  blanket,  dirt,  disease, 
and  an  unsymmetrical  contour.  I  observe  beneath  his 
inflated  rhetoric  deceit  and  hypocrisy ;  beneath  his  physical 
hardihood  cruelty,  malice,  and  revenge.  The  Noble 
Savage  is  a  humbug.  I  remarked  the  same  to  Mr.  Catlin." 

"  Come,"  said  the  phantom. 

The  Haunted  Man  sighed,  and  took  out  his  watch. 
"  Could  n't  we  do  the  rest  of  this  another  time  ?  " 

"  My  hour  is  almost  spent,  irreverent  being,  but  there  is 
yet  a  chance  for  your  reformation.  Come  !  " 

Again  they  sped  through  the  night,  and  again  halted. 
The  sound  of  delicious  but  melancholy  music  fell  upon 
their  ears. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  with  something  of 
interest  in  his  manner,  —  "I  see  an  old  moss-covered  manse 
beside  a  sluggish,  flowing  river.  I  see  weird  shapes : 
witches,  Puritans,  clergymen,  little  children,  judges,  mes 
merized  maidens,  moving  to  the  sound  of  melody  that 
thrills  me  with  its  sweetness  and  purity.  But,  although 
carried  along  its  calm  and  evenly  flowing  current,  the 
shapes  are  strange  and  frightful :  an  eating  lichen  gnaws  at 
the  heart  of  each.  Not  only  the  clergymen,  but  witch, 
maiden,  judge,  and  Puritan,  all  wear  Scarlet  Letters  of 
some  kind  burned  upon  their  hearts.  I  am  fascinated  and 
thrilled,  but  I  feel  a  morbid  sensitiveness  creeping  over  me. 
I  —  I  beg  your  pardon."  The  Goblin  was  yawning  fright 
fully.  "  Well,  perhaps  we  had  better  go." 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN  195 

"One  more,  and  the  last,"  said  the  Gohlin. 

They  were  moving  home.  Streaks  of  red  were  beginning 
to  appear  in  the  eastern  sky.  Along  the  banks  of  the 
blackly  flowing  river  by  moorland  and  stagnant  fens,  by 
low  houses,  clustering  close  to  the  water's  edge,  like  strange 
mollusks  crawled  upon  the  beach  to  dry  ;  by  misty  black 
barges,  the  more  misty  and  indistinct  seen  through  its 
mysterious  veil,  the  river  fog  was  slowly  rising.  So  rolled 
away  and  rose  from  the  heart  of  the  Haunted  Man,  etc., 
etc. 

They  stopped  before  a  quaint  mansion  of  red  brick.  The 
Goblin  waved  his  hand  without  speaking. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  "  a  gay  drawing-room. 
1  see  my  old  friends  of  the  club,  of  the  college,  of  society, 
even  as  they  lived  and  moved.  I  see  the  gallant  and 
•unselfish  men  whom  I  have  loved,  and  the  snobs  whom  I 
have  hated.  I  see  strangely  mingling  with  them,  and  now 
and  then  blending  with  their  forms,  our  old  friends  Dick 
Steele,  Addison,  and  Congreve.  I  observe,  though,  that 
these  gentlemen  have  a  habit  of  getting  too  much  in  the 
way.  The  royal  standard  of  Queen  Anne,  not  in  itself  a 
beautiful  ornament,  is  rather  too  prominent  in  the  picture. 
The  long  galleries  of  black  oak,  the  formal  furniture,  the 
old  portraits,  are  picturesque,  but  depressing.  The  house 
is  damp.  I  enjoy  myself  better  here  on  the  lawn,  where 
they  are  getting  up  a  Vanity  Fair.  See,  the  bell  rings,  the 
curtain  is  rising,  the  puppets  are  brought  out  for  a  new 
play.  Let  me  see." 

The  Haunted  Man  was  pressing  forward  in  his  eagerness, 
but  the  hand  of  the  Goblin  stayed  him,  and  pointing  to  his 
feet  he  saw,  between  him  and  the  rising  curtain,  a  new 
made  grave.  And  bending  above  the  grave  in  passionate 
grief,  the  Haunted  Man  beheld  the  phantom  of  the  previous 
night. 


196  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

The  Haunted  Man  started,  and  —  woke.  The  bright 
sunshine  streamed  into  the  room.  The  air  was  sparkling 
jvith  frost.  He  ran  joyously  to  the  window  and  opened  it. 
A  small  boy  saluted  him  with  "  Merry  Christmas."  The 
Haunted  Man  instantly  gave  him  a  Bank  of  England  note. 
"How  much  like  Tiny  Tim,  Tom,  and  Bobby  that  boy 
looked,  —  bless  my  soul,  what  a  genius  this  Dickens  has  !  " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  Boots  entered. 

"  Consider  your  salary  doubled  instantly.  Have  you 
read  <  David  Copperfield  '  ?  " 

"  Yezzur." 

"  Your  salary  is  quadrupled.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
<  Old  Curiosity  Shop  '  ?  " 

The  man  instantly  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  then 
into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Enough  !  Here  are  five  thousand  pounds.  Open  a 
porter-house,  and  call  it  '  Our  Mutual  Friend.'  Huzza ! 
I  feel  so  happy  !  "  And  the  Haunted  Man  danced  about 
the  room. 

And  so,  bathed  in  the  light  of  that  blessed  sun,  and  yet 
glowing  with  the  warmth  of  a  good  action,  the  Haunted 
Man,  haunted  no  longer,  save  by  those  shapes  which  make 
the  dreams  of  children  beautiful,  reseated  himself  in  his 
chair,  and  finished  "  Our  Mutual  Friend." 


TERENCE  DENVILLE 

BY    CH-L-S    L-V-B 

CHAPTER  I 

MY    HOME 

THE  little  village  of  Pilwiddle  is  one  of  the  smallest 
and  obscurest  hamlets  on  the  western  coast  of  Ireland.  On 
a  lofty  crag,  overlooking  the  hoarse  Atlantic,  stands  "  Den- 
ville's  Shot  Tower,"  a  corruption  by  the  peasantry  of  "  D'En- 
ville's  Chateau,"  so  called  from  my  great-grandfather,  Phelim 
St.  Remy  d'Enville,  who  assumed  the  name  and  title  of  a 
French  heiress  with  whom  he  ran  away.  To  this  fact  my 
familiar  knowledge  and  excellent  pronunciation  of  the 
French  language  may  be  attributed,  as  well  as  many  of  the 
events  which  covered  my  after  life. 

The  Denvilles  were  always  passionately  fond  of  field 
sports.  At  the  age  of  four,  I  was  already  the  boldest  rider 
and  the  best  shot  in  the  country.  When  only  eight,  I  won 
the  St.  Remy  Cup  at  the  Pilwiddle  races,  —  riding  my 
favorite  blood-mare  Hellfire.  As  I  approached  the  stand 
amidst  the  plaudits  of  the  assembled  multitude,  and  cries 
of,  "  Thrue  for  ye,  Mashter  Terence,"  and  "  oh,  but  it 's  a 
Dinville  ! "  there  was  a  slight  stir  among  the  gentry,  who 
surrounded  the  Lord  Lieutenant  and  other  titled  person 
ages  whom  the  race  had  attracted  thither.  "  How  young 
he  is,  —  a  mere  child,  and  yet  how  noble-looking,"  said  a 
eweet  low  voice,  which  thrilled  my  soul. 

I  looked  up  and  met  the  full  liquid  orbs  of  the  Hon. 


198  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

Blanche  Fitzroy  Sackville,  youngest  daughter  of  the  Lord 
Lieutenant.  She  blushed  deeply.  I  turned  pale  and  almost 
fainted.  But  the  cold,  sneering  tones  of  a  masculine  voics 
sent  the  blood  back  again  into  my  youthful  cheek. 

"  Very  likely  the  ragged  scion  of  one  of  these  banditti 
Irish  gentry,  who  has  taken  naturally  to  'the  road/  He 
should  be  at  school  —  though  I  warrant  me  his  knowledge 
of  Terence  will  not  extend  beyond  his  own  name,"  said 
Lord  Henry  Somerset,  aid-de-camp  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant. 

A  moment  and  I  was  perfectly  calm,  though  cold  as  ice. 
Dismounting,  and  stepping  to  the  side  of  the  speaker,  I  said 
in  a  low  firm  voice  :  — 

"  Had  your  lordship  read  Terence  more  carefully,  you 
would  have  learned  that  banditti  are  sometimes  proficient 
in  other  arts  beside  horsemanship,"  and  I  touched  hia 
holster  significantly  with  my  hand.  I  had  not  read  Ter 
ence  myself,  but  with  the  skillful  audacity  of  my  race  I 
calculated  that  a  vague  allusion,  coupled  with  a  threat, 
would  embarrass  him.  It  did. 

"  Ah  —  what  mean  you  ?  "  he  said,  white  with  rage. 

"  Enough,  we  are  observed,"  I  replied  ;  "  Father  Tom 
will  wait  on  you  this  evening ;  and  to-morrow  morning,  my 
lord,  in  the  glen  below  Pilwiddle,  we  will  meet  again." 

"  Father  Tom  —  glen  !  "  ejaculated  the  Englishman,  with 
genuine  surprise.  "  What  ?  do  priests  carry  challenges  and 
act  as  seconds  in  your  infernal  country  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  scornfully  ;  "  why  should  they  not  ? 
Their  services  are  more  often  necessary  than  those  of  a  sur 
geon,"  I  added  significantly,  turning  away. 

The  party  slowly  rode  off,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Hon.  Blanche  Sackville,  who  lingered  for  a  moment  be 
hind.  In  an  instant  I  was  at  her  side.  Bending  her 
blushing  face  over  the  neck  of  her  white  filly,  she  said 
hurriedly :  — 

"  Words  have  passed  between  Lord  Somerset  and  your- 


TERENCE   DENVILLE  199 

self.  You  are  about  to  fight.  Don't  deny  it  —  but  hear 
me.  You  will  meet  him  —  I  know  your  skill  of  weapons. 
He  will  be  at  your  mercy.  I  entreat  you  to  spare  his 
life  !  " 

I  hesitated.  "  Never  !  "  I  cried  passionately  ;  "  he  has 
insulted  a  Denville  !  " 

"  Terence,"  she  whispered,  "  Terence  — for  my  sake  ?  " 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  sought  the 
ground  in  bashful  confusion. 

"  You  love  him  then  ?  "  I  cried  bitterly. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  agitatedly,  —  "  no,  you  do  me  wrong. 
I  —  I  —  cannot  explain  myself.  My  father  !  —  the  Lady 
Dowager  Sackville  —  the  estate  of  Sackville  —  the  borough 
—  my  uncle,  Fitzroy  Somerset.  Ah  !  what  am  I  saying  ? 
Forgive  me.  Oh,  Terence,"  she  said,  as  her  beautiful  head 
sank  on  my  shoulder,  "  you  know  not  what  I  suffer ! " 

I  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  passionate  kisses. 
But  the  high-bred  English  girl,  recovering  something  of  her 
former  hauteur,  said  hastily,  "  Leave  me,  leave  me,  but 
promise  !  " 

"  I  promise,"  I  replied  enthusiastically  ;  "  I  will  spare 
his  life  !  " 

"  Thanks,  Terence,  —  thanks  !  "  and  disengaging  her 
hand  from  my  lips  she  rode  rapidly  away. 

The  next  morning,  the  Hon.  Captain  Henry  Somerset 
and  myself  exchanged  nineteen  shots  in  the  glen,  and  at 
each  fire  I  shot  away  a  button  from  his  uniform.  As  my 
last  bullet  shot  off  the  last  button  from  his  sleeve,  I  re 
marked  quietly,  "  You  seem  now,  my  lord,  to  be  almost  aa 
ragged  as  the  gentry  you  sneered  at,"  and  rode  haughtily 
away. 


200  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  FIGHTING  FIFTY-SIXTH 

When  I  was  nineteen  years  old  my  father  sold  the 
Chateau  d'  Enville,  and  purchased  my  commission  in  the 
"  Fifty-sixth  "  with  the  proceeds.  "  I  say,  Denville," 
said  young  McSpadden,  a  boy- faced  ensign,  who  had  just 
joined,  "  you  '11  represent  the  estate  in  the  Army,  if  you 
won't  in  the  House."  Poor  fellow,  he  paid  for  his  mean 
ingless  joke  with  his  life,  for  I  shot  him  through  the  heart 
the  next  morning.  "  You  're  a  good  fellow,  Denville,"  said 
the  poor  boy  faintly,  as  I  knelt  beside  him  ;  "  good-by  !  " 
For  the  first  time  since  my  grandfather's  death  I  wept.  I 
could  not  help  thinking  that  I  would  have  been  a  better 
man  if  Blanche  —  But  why  proceed  ?  Was  she  not  now 
in  Florence  —  the  belle  of  the  English  embassy  ? 

But  Napoleon  had  returned  from  Elba.  Europe  was  in 
a  blaze  of  excitement.  The  Allies  were  preparing  to  resist 
the  Man  of  Destiny.  We  were  ordered  from  Gibraltar 
home,  and  were  soon  again  en  route  for  Brussels.  I  did 
not  regret  that  I  was  to  be  placed  in  active  service.  I  was 
ambitious,  and  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  my 
self.  My  garrison  life  in  Gibraltar  had  been  monotonous 
and  dull.  I  had  killed  five  men  in  duel,  and  had  an  affair 
with  the  colonel  of  my  regiment,  who  handsomely  apolo 
gized  before  the  matter  assumed  a  serious  aspect.  I  had 
been  twice  in  love.  Yet  these  were  but  boyish  freaks  and 
follies.  I  wished  to  be  a  man. 

The  time  soon  came,  —  the  morning  of  Waterloo.  But 
why  describe  that  momentous  battle,  on  which  the  fate  of 
the  entire  world  was  hanging  ?  Twice  were  the  Fifty-sixth 
surrounded  by  French  cuirassiers,  and  twioe  did  we  mow 
them  down  by  our  fire.  I  had  seven  horses  shot  under  me, 


TERENCE  DENVILLE  201 

and  was  mounting  the  eighth,  when  an  orderly  rode  up 
hastily,  touched  his  cap,  and,  handing  me  a  dispatch,  gal 
loped  rapidly  away. 

I  opened  it  hurriedly  and  read  :  — 

"  LET  PlCTON  ADVANCE  IMMEDIATELY  ON  THF,  RIGHT." 

I  saw  it  all  at  a  glance.  I  had  been  mistaken  for  a  gen 
eral  officer.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Fiction's  divi 
sion  was  two  miles  away,  only  accessible  through  a  heavy 
cross-fire  of  artillery  and  musketry.  But  my  mind  was 
made  up. 

In  an  instant  I  was  engaged  with  an  entire  squadron  of 
cavalry,  who  endeavored  to  surround  me.  Cutting  my 
way  through  them,  I  advanced  boldly  upon  a  battery  and 
sabred  the  gunners  before  they  could  bring  their  pieces  to 
6ear.  Looking  around,  I  saw  that  I  had  in  fact  penetrated 
the  French  centre.  Before  I  was  well  aware  of  the  local 
ity,  I  was  hailed  by  a  sharp  voice  in  French,  — 

"  Come  here,  sir  !  " 

I  obeyed,  and  advanced  to  the  side  of  a  little  man  in  a 
cocked  hat. 

"  Has  Grouchy  come  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sire,"  I  replied,  —  for  it  was  the  Emperor. 

"  Ha  !  "  he  said  suddenly,  bending  his  piercing  eyes  on 
my  uniform  ;  "  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"No,  sire,"  I  said  proudly. 

"  A  spy  ?  " 

I  placed  my  hand  upon  my  sword,  but  a  gesture  from 
the  Emperor  bade  me  forbear. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,"  he  said. 

I  took  my  snuff-box  from  my  pocket,  and,  taking  a 
pinch,  replied  by  handing  it,  with  a  bow,  to  the  Emperor. 

His  quick  eye  caught  the  cipher  on  the  lid. 

"  What !  a  D'Enville  ?  Ha  !  this  accounts  for  the  pur 
ity  of  your  accent.  Any  relation  to  Roderick  d'Enville  ?  n 

"  My  father,  sire.  ' 


202  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"  He  was  my  schoolfellow  at  the  Ecole  Polytechnique. 
Embrace  me  !  "  And  the  Emperor  fell  upon  my  neck  in 
the  presence  of  his  entire  staff.  Then,  recovering  himself, 
he  gently  placed  in  my  hand  his  own  magnificent  snuff-box, 
in  exchange  for  mine,  and  hanging  upon  my  breast  the 
cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  which  he  took  from  his  own, 
he  bade  one  of  his  marshals  conduct  me  back  to  my  regi 
ment. 

I  was  so  intoxicated  with  the  honor  of  which  I  had  been 
the  recipient,  that  on  reaching  our  lines  I  uttered  a  shout 
of  joy  and  put  spurs  to  my  horse.  The  intelligent  animal 
seemed  to  sympathize  with  my  feelings,  and  fairly  flew 
over  the  ground.  On  a  rising  eminence  a  few  yards  before 
me  stood  a  gray -haired  officer,  surrounded  by  his  staff.  I 
don't  know  what  possessed  me,  but  putting  spurs  to  my 
horse,  I  rode  at  him  boldly,  and  with  one  bound  cleared 
him,  horse  and  all.  A  shout  of  indignation  arose  from  the 
assembled  staff.  I  wheeled  suddenly,  with  the  intention 
of  apologizing,  but  my  mare  misunderstood  me,  and,  again 
dashing  forward,  once  more  vaulted  over  the  head  of  the 
officer,  this  time  unfortunately  uncovering  him  by  a  vicious 
kick  of  her  hoof.  "  Seize  him  ! "  roared  the  entire  army. 
I  was  seized.  As  the  soldiers  led  me  away,  I  asked  the 
name  of  the  gray-haired  officer.  "  That  —  why,  that 's 
the  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON  !  " 

I  fainted. 

For  six  months  I  had  brain  fever.  During  my  illness 
ten  grapeshot  were  extracted  from  my  body  which  I  had 
unconsciously  received  during  the  battle.  When  I  opened 
my  eyes  I  met  the  sweet  glance  of  a  Sister  of  Charity. 

"  Blanche  !  "  I  stammered  feebly. 

"  The  same,"  she  replied. 

"  You  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  but  hush  !     It 's  a  long  story.     You  see, 


TERENCE   DENVILLE  203 

dear  Terence,  your  grandfather  married  my  great-aunt's 
sister,  and  your  father  again  married  my  grandmother's 
niece,  who,  dying  without  a  will,  was,  according  to  the 
French  law  "  — 

"  But  I  do  not  comprehend/ '  I  said. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Blanche,  with  her  old  sweet 
smile  ;  "  you  've  had  brain  fever  ;  so  go  to  sleep." 

I  understood,  however,  that  Blanche  loved  me;  and  I 
am  now,  dear  reader,  Sir  Terence  Sackville,  K.  C.  B..  and 
Lady  Blanche  is  Lady  Sackville. 


MAEY  McGILLUP 

A  SOUTHERN  NOVEL 

AFTER  BELLE  BOYD 
WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  G.  A.  S-LA 

INTRODUCTION 

"  WILL  you  write  me  up  ?  " 

The  scene  was  near  Temple  Bar.  The  speaker  was  the 
famous  rebel  Mary  McGillup,  —  a  young  girl  of  fragile 
frame,  and  long,  lustrous  black  hair.  I  must  confess  that 
the  question  was  a  peculiar  one,  and,  under  the  circum 
stances,  somewhat  puzzling.  It  was  true  I  had  been  kindly 
treated  by  the  Northerners,  and,  though  prejudiced  against 
them,  was  to  some  extent  under  obligations  to  them.  It 
was  true  that  I  knew  little  or  nothing  of  American  politics, 
history,  or  geography.  But  when  did  an  English  writer 
ever  weigh  such  trifles  ?  Turning  to  the  speaker,  I  in 
quired  with  some  caution  the  amount  of  pecuniary  compen 
sation  offered  for  the  work. 

"  Sir  !  "  she  said,  drawing  her  fragile  form  to  its  full 
height,  "you  insult  me, — you  insult  the  South." 

"  But  look  ye  here,  d  'ye  see  —  the  tin  —  the  blunt  — 
the  ready  —  the  stiff,  you  know.  Don't  ye  see,  we  can't 
do  without  that,  you  know  !  " 

"  It  shall  be  contingent  on  the  success  of  the  story,"  she 
answered  haughtily.  "  In  the  mean  time  take  this  precious 
gem."  And  drawing  a  diamond  ring  from  her  finger,  she 
placed  it  with  a  roll  of  MSS.  in  my  hands,  and  vanished. 


MARY   McGILLUP  205 

Although  unable  to  procure  more  than  £1  2s.  6d.  from 
an  intelligent  pawnbroker  to  whom  I  stated  the  circum 
stances  and  with  whom  I  pledged  the  ring,  my  sympathies 
with  the  cause  of  a  downtrodden  and  chivalrous  people 
were  at  once  enlisted.  I  could  not  help  wondering  that 
in  rich  England,  the  home  of  the  oppressed  and  the  free,  a 
young  and  lovely  woman  like  the  fair  author  of  those  pages 
should  be  obliged  to  thus  pawn  her  jewels  —  her  marriage 
gift  —  for  the  means  to  procure  her  bread  !  With  the  ex 
ception  of  the  English  aristocracy,  —  who  much  resemble 
them,  —  I  do  not  know  of  a  class  of  people  that  I  so  much 
admire  as  the  Southern  planters.  May  I  become  better 
acquainted  with  both ! 

Since  writing  the  above,  the  news  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  as 
sassination  has  reached  me.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say 
that  I  am  dissatisfied  with  the  result.  I  do  not  attempt  to 
excuse  the  assassin.  Yet  there  will  be  men  who  will 
charge  this  act  upon  the  chivalrous  South.  This  leads  me 
to  repeat  a  remark  once  before  made  by  me  in  this  connec 
tion,  which  has  become  justly  celebrated.  It  is  this  :  — 

"It  is  usual,  in  cases  of  murder,  to  look  for  the  criminal 
among  those  who  expect  to  be  benefited  by  the  crime.  In 
the  death  of  Lincoln,  his  immediate  successor  in  office  alone 
receives  the  benefit  of  his  dying." 

If  her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria  were  assassinated,  which 
Heaven  forbid,  the  one  most  benefited  by  her  decease 
would,  of  course,  be  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  her  immediate  successor.  It  would  be  unnecessary' 
to  state  that  suspicion  would  at  once  point  to  the  real 
culprit,  which  would  of  course  be  his  Royal  Highness. 
This  is  logic. 

But  I  have  done.  After  having  thus  stated  my  opinion 
in  favor  of  the  South,  I  would  merely  remark  that  there  is 
One  who  judgeth  all  things,  —  who  weigheth  the  cause  be 
tween  brother  and  brother,  —  and  awai-deth  the  perfect 


206  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

retribution ;   and  whose  ultimate  decision    I,  as  a  British 
subject,  have  only  anticipated. 

G.  A.  S. 

CHAPTER  I 

Every  reader  of  Belle  Boyd's  narrative  will  remember 
an  allusion  to  a  "  lovely,  fragile-looking  girl  of  nineteen," 
who  rivaled  Belle  Boyd  in  devotion  to  the  Southern  cause, 
and  who,  like  her,  earned  the  enviable  distinction  of  being 
a  "  rebel  spy." 

I  am  that  "  fragile "  young  creature.  Although  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  late  Miss  Boyd,  now  Mrs.  Hardinge, 
candor  compels  me  to  state  that  nothing  but  our  common 
politics  prevents  me  from  exposing  the  ungenerous  spirit 
she  has  displayed  in  this  allusion.  To  be  dismissed  in  a 
single  paragraph  after  years  of  —  But  I  anticipate.  To  put 
up  with  this  feeble  and  forced  acknowledgment  of  services 
rendered  would  be  a  confession  of  a  craven  spirit,  which, 
thank  God,  though  "  fragile "  and  only  "  nineteen,"  I  do 
not  possess.  I  may  not  have  the  "  blood  of  a  Howard  "  in 
my  veins,  as  some  people,  whom  I  shall  not  disgrace  myself 
by  naming,  claim  to  have,  but  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  the 
race  of  McGillup  ever  yet  brooked  slight  or  insult.  I  shall 
not  say  that  attention  in  certain  quarters  seems  to  have 
turned  some  people's  heads ;  nor  that  it  would  have  been 
more  delicate  if  certain  folks  had  kept  quiet  on  the  subject 
of  their  courtship,  and  the  rejection  of  certain  offers,  when 
it  is  known  that  their  forward  conduct  was  all  that  procured 
them  a  husband !  Thank  Heaven,  the  South  has  some 
daughters  who  are  above  such  base  considerations !  While 
nothing  shall  tempt  me  to  reveal  the  promises  to  share 
equally  the  fame  of  certain  enterprises,  which  were  made 
by  one  who  shall  now  be  nameless,  I  have  deemed  it  only 
just  to  myself  to  put  my  own  adventures  upon  record.  If 


MARY   McGILLUP  207 

they  are  not  equal  to  those  of  another  individual,  it  is  be 
cause,  though  "fragile,"  my  education  has  taught  me  to 
have  some  consideration  for  the  truth.  I  am  done. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  was  born  in  Missouri.  My  dislike  for  the  Northern 
scum  was  inherent.  This  was  shown,  at  an  early  age,  in 
the  extreme  distaste  I  exhibited  for  Webster's  spelling-book, 
—  the  work  of  a  well-known  Eastern  Abolitionist.  I  can 
not  be  too  grateful  for  the  consideration  shown  by  my 
chivalrous  father,  —  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  —  who 
resisted  to  the  last  an  attempt  to  introduce  Mitchell's 
Astronomy  and  Geography  into  the  public  school  of  our 
district.  When  I  state  that  this  same  Mitchell  became 
afterward  a  hireling  helot  in  the  Yankee  Army,  every 
intelligent  reader  will  appreciate  the  prophetic  discrimination 
of  this  true  son  of  the  South. 

I  was  eight  years  old  when  I  struck  the  first  blow  for 
Southern  freedom  against  the  Northern  Tyrant.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  state  that  in  this  instance  the  oppressor 
was  a  pale,  overworked  New  England  "  schoolmarm."  The 
principle  for  which  I  was  contending,  I  felt,  however,  to 
be  the  same.  Resenting  an  affront  put  upon  me,  I  one 
day  heaved  a  rock l  at  the  head  of  the  Vandal  schoolmis 
tress.  I  was  seized  and  overpowered.  My  pen  falters  as 
I  reach  the  climax.  English  readers  will  not  give  credit 
to  this  sickening  story,  —  the  civilized  world  will  avert  its 
head,  —  but  I,  Mary  McGillup,  was  publicly  SPANKED  ! 

i  NOTB,  BY  G.  A.  S.  —  In  the  Southwest,  any  stone  larger  than  a  pea 
is  termed  "a  rock." 


208  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  III 

But  the  chaotic  vortex  of  civil  war  approached,  and  fell 
destruction,  often  procrastinated,  brooded  in  storm.1  As 
the  English  people  may  like  to  know  what  was  really  the 
origin  of  the  Rebellion,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  them 
the  true  and  only  cause.  Slavery  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  although  the  violation  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence,  in  the  disregard  by  the  North  of  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Law,2  might  have  provoked  a  less  fiery  people  than  the 
Southrons.  At  the  inception  of  the  struggle  a  large  amount 
of  Southern  indebtedness  was  held  by  the  people  of  the 
North.  To  force  payment  from  the  generous  but  insolvent 
debtor  —  to  obtain  liquidation  from  the  Southern  planter  — 
was  really  the  soulless  and  mercenary  object  of  the  craven 
Northerners.  Let  the  common  people  of  England  look  to 
this.  Let  the  improvident  literary  hack,  the  starved  im 
pecunious  Grub  Street  debtor,  the  newspaper  frequenter 
of  sponging-houses,  remember  this  in  their  criticisms  of  the 
vile  and  slavish  Yankee. 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  roasting  of  an  Abolitionist,  by  a  greatly  infuriated 
community,  was  my  first  taste  of  the  horrors  of  civil  war. 
Heavens !  Why  will  the  North  persist  in  this  fratricidal 
warfare  ?  The  expulsion  of  several  Union  refugees,  which 
soon  followed,  now  fairly  plunged  my  beloved  State  into 
the  seething  vortex. 

1  I  make  no  pretension  to  fine  writing,  but  perhaps  Mrs.  Hardinge  can 
lay  over  that.    Oh,  of  course !      M.  McG. 

2  The  Declaration  of  Independence  grants  to  each  subject  "  the  pursuit 
of  life,  liberty,  and  happiness."     A  fugitive  slave  may  be  said  to  person- 
ify  "life,  liberty,  and  happiness."     Hence  his  pursu;t  is  really  legal 
This  is  logic.    G.  A.  S. 


MARY  McGILLUP  209 

I  was  sitting  at  the  piano  one  afternoon,  singing  that 
stirring  refrain,  so  justly  celebrated,  but  which  a  craven 
spirit,  unworthy  of  England,  has  excluded  from  some  of 
her  principal  restaurants,  and  was  dwelling  with  some  en 
thusiasm  on  the  following  line  :  — 

"Huzza!  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum!" 

when  a  fragment  of  that  scum,  clothed  in  that  detestable 
blue  uniform  which  is  the  symbol  of  oppression,  entered 
the  apartment. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  the  celebrated  rebel 
spy,  Miss  McGillup  ?  "  said  the  Vandal  officer. 

In  a  moment  I  was  perfectly  calm.  With  the  exception 
of  slightly  expectorating  twice  in  the  face  of  the  minion, 
I  did  not  betray  my  agitation.  Haughtily,  yet  firmly,  I 
replied,  — 

"  I  am." 

"  You  looked  as  if  you  might  be,"  the  brute  replied,  as 
he  turned  on  his  heel  to  leave  the  apartment. 

In  an  instant  I  threw  myself  before  him.  "  You  shall 
not  leave  here  thus,"  I  shrieked,  grappling  him  with  an 
energy  which  no  one,  seeing  my  frail  figure,  would  have, 
believed.  "  I  know  the  reputation  of  your  hireling  crew. 
I  read  your  dreadful  purpose  in  your  eye.  Tell  me  not 
that  your  designs  are  not  sinister.  You  came  here  t« 
insult  me,  —  to  kiss  me,  perhaps.  You  shan't,  —  you 
naughty  man.  Go  away  !  " 

The  blush  of  conscious  degradation  rose  to  the  cheek  of 
the  Lincoln  hireling  as  he  turned  his  face  away  from  mine. 

In  an  instant  I  drew  my  pistol  from  my  belt,  which,  in 
anticipation  of  some  such  outrage,  I  always  carried,  and 
shot  him. 


210  CONDENSED   NOVELS 


CHAPTER  V 

"  Thy  forte  was  less  to  act  than  speak, 

Maryland  ! 
Thy  politics  were  changed  each  week, 

Maryland  I 

With  Northern  Vandals  thou  wast  meek, 
With  sympathizers  thou  wouldst  shriek, 
I  know  thee  —  oh,  'twas  like  thy  cheek  ! 

Maryland  !  my  Maryland  ! ;' 

After  committing  the  act  described  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  which  every  English  reader  will  pardon,  I  went 
upstairs,  put  on  a  clean  pair  of  stockings,  and,  placing  a 
rose  in  my  lustrous  black  hair,  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
camp  of  Generals  Price  and  Mosby  to  put  them  in  posses 
sion  of  information  which  would  lead  to  the  destruction  of 
a  portion  of  the  Federal  Army.  During  a  great  part  of  my 
flight  I  was  exposed  to  a  running  fire  from  the  Federal  pick 
ets  of  such  coarse  expressions  as,  "  Go  it,  Sally  Eeb," 
"  Dust  it,  my  Confederate  Beauty,''  but  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  glorious  Southern  camp  uninjured. 

In  a  week  afterwards  I  was  arrested,  by  a  lettre  de 
cachet  of  Mr.  Stanton,  and  placed  in  the  Bastile.  British 
readers  of  my  story  will  express  surprise  at  these  terms,  but 
I  assure  them  that  not  only  these  articles  but  tumbrils, 
guillotines,  and  conciergeries  were  in  active  use  among  the 
Federals.  If  substantiation  be  required,  I  refer  to  the 
Charleston  "  Mercury,"  the  only  reliable  organ,  next  to  the 
New  York  "  Daily  News,"  published  in  the  country.  At 
the  Bastile  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  accomplished 
"Mid  elegant  author  of  "  Guy  Livingstone,"  1  to  whom  I  pre- 
.^ented  a  curiously  carved  thigh-bone  of  a  Union  officer,  and 

1  The  recent  conduct  of  Mr.  Livingstone  renders  him  unworthy  of  my 
notice.  His  disgusting  praise  of  Belle  Boyd,  and  complete  ignoring  of  my 
claims,  show  the  artfulness  of  some  females  and  puppyism  of  some  men. 

M.  McG. 


MARY   McGILLUP  211 

from  whom  I  received  the  following  beautiful  acknowledg 
ment  :  — 

DEMOISELLE  :  —  Should  I  ever  win  hame  to  my  ain 
countrie,  I  make  mine  avow  to  enshrine  in  my  reliquaire 
this  elegant  bijouterie  and  offering  of  La  belle  Rebelle. 
Nay,  methinks  this  fraction  of  man's  anatomy  were  some 
compensation  for  the  rib  lost  by  the  "  grand  old  gardener," 
Adam. 

CHAPTER  VI 

Released  at  last  from  durance  vile,  and  placed  on  board 
of  an  Erie  canal-boat,  on  my  way  to  Canada,  I  for  a  mo 
ment  breathed  the  sweets  of  liberty.  Perhaps  the  interval 
gave  me  opportunity  to  indulge  in  certain  reveries  which  I 
had  hitherto  sternly  dismissed.  Henry  Breckinridge  Fo- 
lair,  a  consistent  Copperhead,  captain  of  the  canal-boat, 
again  and  again  pressed  that  suit  I  had  so  often  rejected. 

It  was  a  lovely  moonlight  night.  We  sat  on  the  deck 
of  the  gliding  craft.  The  moonbeam  and  the  lash  of  the 
driver  fell  softly  on  the  flanks  of  the  off  horse,  and  only 
the  surging  of  the  tow-rope  broke  the  silence.  Folair's 
arm  clasped  my  waist.  I  suffered  it  to  remain.  Placing 
in  my  lap  a  small  but  not  ungrateful  roll  of  checkerberry 
lozenges,  he  took  the  occasion  to  repeat  softly  in  my  ear 
the  words  of  a  motto  he  had  just  unwrapped  —  with  its 
graceful  covering  of  the  tissue  paper  —  from  a  sugar 
almond.  The  heart  of  the  wicked  little  rebel,  Mary  Mc- 
Gillup,  was  won  ! 

The  story  of  Mary  McGillup  is  done.  I  might  have 
added  the  journal  of  my  husband,  Henry  Breckinridge  Fo- 
lair,  but  as  it  refers  chiefly  to  his  freights  and  a  schedule 
of  his  passengers,  I  have  been  obliged,  reluctantly,  to  sur> 
press  it. 


212  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

It  is  due  to  my  friends  to  say  that  I  have  been  requested 
not  to  write  this  book.  Expressions  have  reached  my  ears, 
the  reverse  of  complimentary.  I  have  been  told  that  its 
publication  will  probably  insure  my  banishment  for  life. 
Be  it  so.  If  the  cause  for  which  I  labored  have  been  sub 
served,  I  am  content. 


THE  HOODLUM  BAND 

OB 

THE  BOY  CHIEF,  THE  INFANT  POLITICIAN,  AND  THE  PIRATE 
PRODIGY 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  a  quiet  New  England  village.  Nowhere  in  the 
valley  of  the  Connecticut  the  autumn  sun  shone  upon  a 
more  peaceful,  pastoral,  manufacturing  community.  The 
wooden  nutmegs  were  slowly  ripening  on  the  trees,  and  the 
white-pine  hams  for  Western  consumption  were  gradually 
rounding  into  form  under  the  deft  manipulation  of  the 
hardy  American  artisan.  The  honest  Connecticut  farmer 
was  quietly  gathering  from  his  threshing-floor  the  shoe- 
pegs,  which,  when  intermixed  with  a  fair  proportion  of  oats, 
offered  a  pleasing  substitute  for  fodder  to  the  effete  civili 
zations  of  Europe.  An  almost  Sabbath-like  stillness  pre 
vailed.  Doemville  was  only  seven  miles  from  Hartford, 
and  the  surrounding  landscape  smiled  with  the  conviction 
of  being  fully  insured. 

Few  would  have  thought  that  this  peaceful  village  was 
the  home  of  the  three  young  heroes  whose  exploits  would 
hereafter  —  But  we  anticipate. 

Doemville  Academy  was  the  principal  seat  of  learning  in 
the  county.  Under  the  grave  and  gentle  administration  of 
the  venerable  Doctor  Context,  it  had  attained  just  popu 
larity.  Yet  the  increasing  infirmities  of  age  obliged  the 
doctor  to  relinquish  much  of  his  trust  to  his  assistants,  who, 


214  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

it  is  needless  to  say,  abused  his  confidence.  Before  long 
their  brutal  tyranny  and  deep-laid  malevolence  became 
apparent.  Boys  were  absolutely  forced  to  study  their 
lessons.  The  sickening  fact  will  hardly  be  believed,  but 
during  school-hours  they  were  obliged  to  remain  in  their 
seats  with  the  appearance,  at  least,  of  discipline.  It  is 
stated  by  good  authority  that  the  rolling  of  croquet-balls 
across  the  floor  during  recitation  was  objected  to,  under 
the  fiendish  excuse  of  its  interfering  with  their  studies. 
The  breaking  of  windows  by  baseballs,  and  the  beating  of 
small  scholars  with  bats,  was  declared  against.  At  last, 
bloated  and  arrogant  with  success,  the  under-teachers  threw 
aside  all  disguise,  and  revealed  themselves  in  their  true 
colors.  A  cigar  was  actually  taken  out  of  a  day-scholar's 
mouth  during  prayers  !  A  flask  of  whiskey  was  dragged 
from  another's  desk,  and  then  thrown  out  of  the  window. 
And  finally,  Profanity,  Hazing,  Theft,  and  Lying  were 
almost  discouraged. 

Could  the  youth  of  America,  conscious  of  their  power, 
and  a  literature  of  their  own,  tamely  submit  to  this 
tyranny  ?  Never !  We  repeat  it  firmly.  Never  !  We 
repeat  it  to  parents  and  guardians.  Never !  But  the 
fiendish  tutors,  chuckling  in  their  glee,  little  knew  what 
was  passing  through  the  cold,  haughty  intellect  of  Charles 
Francis  Adams  Golightly,  aged  ten  ;  what  curled  the  lip  of 
Benjamin  Franklin  Jenkins,  aged  seven  ;  or  what  shone  in 
the  bold,  blue  eyes  of  Bromley  Chitterlings,  aged  six  and 
a  half,  as  they  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  playground  at  recess. 
Their  only  other  companion  and  confidant  was  the  negro 
porter  and  janitor  of  the  school,  known  as  "Pirate  Jim." 

Fitly,  indeed,  was  he  named,  as  the  secrets  of  his  early 
wild  career —  confessed  freely  to  his  noble  young  friends  — 
plainly  showed.  A  slaver  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  the 
ringleader  of  a  mutiny  on  the  African  coast  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  a  privateersman  during  the  last  war  with  England, 


THE   HOODLUM  BAND  215 

the  commander  of  a  fire-ship  and  its  sole  survivor  at  twenty- 
five,  with  a  wild,  intermediate  career  of  unmixed  piracy3 
until  the  Rebellion  called  him  to  civil  service  again  as  ii 
blockade  runner,  and  peace  and  a  desire  for  rural  repose 
^ed  him  to  seek  the  janitorship  of  the  Doemville  Academy, 
where  no  questions  were  asked  and  references  not  ex 
changed  —  he  was,  indeed,  a  fit  mentor  for  our  daring  youth. 
Although  a  man  whose  days  had  exceeded  the  usual  space 
allotted  to  humanity,  the  various  episodes  of  his  career  foot 
ing  his  age  up  to  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  years, 
he  scarcely  looked  it,  and  was  still  hale  and  vigorous. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Pirate  Jim  critically  ;  "  I  don't  think 
he  was  any  bigger  nor  you,  Master  Chitterlings,  if  as  big, 
when  he  stood  on  the  fork'stle  of  my  ship  and  shot  the 
captain  o'  that  East  Injyman  dead.  We  used  to  call  hiiw 
little  Weevils,  he  was  so  young-like.  But,  bless  your 
hearts,  boys  !  he  wa  'n't  anything  to  Little  Sammy  Barlow. 
ez  once  crep'  up  inter  the  captain's  stateroom  on  a  Rooshin 
frigate,  stabbed  him  to  the  heart  with  a  jack-knife,  then  put 
on  the  captain's  uniform  and  his  cocked  hat,  took  command 
of  the  ship,  and  font  her  hisself." 

"  Was  n't  the  captain's  clothes  big  for  him  ?  "  asked  B. 
Franklin  Jenkins  anxiously. 

The  janitor  eyed  young  Jenkins  with  pained  dignity. 

"  Did  n't  I  say  the  Rooshin  captain  was  a  small,  a  very 
small,  man  ?  Rooshins  is  small,  likewise  Greeks." 

A  noble  enthusiasm  beamed  in  the  faces  of  the  youthful 
heroes. 

"Was  Barlow  as  large  as  me?"  asked  C.  F.  Adams 
Golightly,  lifting  his  curls  from  his  Jove-like  brow. 

"  Yes ;  but,  then,  he  hed  hed,  so  to  speak,  experiences. 
It  was  allowed  that  he  had  pizened  his  schoolmaster  afore 
he  went  to  sea.  But  it 's  dry  talking,  boys." 

Golightly  drew  a  flask  from  his  jacket  and  handed  it  to 
the  janitor.  It  was  his  father's  best  brandy.  The  heart  of 
the  honest  old  seaman  was  touched. 


216  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

"  Bless  ye,  my  own  pirate  boy !  "  he  said  in  a  voice 
suffocating  with  emotion. 

"  I  ?ve  got  some  tobacco,"  said  the  youthful  Jenkins, 
"  but  it 's  fine  cut ;  I  use  only  that  now." 

"  I  kin  buy  some  plug  at  the  corner  grocery,"  said  Pirate 
Jim,  "  only  I  left  my  portmoney  at  home." 

"  Take  this  watch,"  said  young  Golightly  ;  "  't  is  my 
father's.  Since  he  became  a  tyrant  and  usurper,  and  forced 
me  to  join  a  corsair's  band,  I  've  begun  by  dividing  the 
property." 

"  This  is  idle  trifling,"  said  young  Chitterlings  wildly. 
"  Every  moment  is  precious.  Is  this  an  hour  to  give  to 
wine  and  wassail  ?  Ha,  we  want  action  —  action  !  We 
must  strike  the  blow  for  freedom  to-night  —  ay,  this  very 
night.  The  scow  is  already  anchored  in  the  mill-dam, 
freighted  with  provisions  for  a  three  months'  voyage.  I 
have  a  black  flag  in  my  pocket.  Why,  then,  this  cowardly 
delay  ?  " 

The  two  elder  youths  turned  with  a  slight  feeling  of  awe 
and  shame  to  gaze  on  the  glowing  cheeks  and  high,  haughty 
crest  of  their  youngest  comrade  —  the  bright,  the  beautiful 
Bromley  Chitterlings.  Alas  !  that  very  moment  of  forget- 
fulness  and  mutual  admiration  was  fraught  with  danger. 
A  thin,  dyspeptic,  half-starved  tutor  approached. 

"  It  is  time  to  resume  your  studies,  young  gentlemen," 
he  said,  with  fiendish  politeness. 

They  were  his  last  words  on  earth. 

"  Down,  Tyrant !  "  screamed  Chitterlings. 

"  Sic  him  —  I  mean,  sic  semper  tyrannis  !  "  said  the 
classical  Golightly. 

A  heavy  blow  on  the  head  from  a  baseball  bat,  and  the 
rapid  projection  of  a  baseball  against  his  empty  stomach, 
brought  the  tutor  a  limp  and  lifeless  mass  to  the  ground. 
Golightly  shuddered.  Let  not  my  young  readers  blame 
him  too  rashly.  It  was  his  first  homicide. 


THE   HOODLUM  BAND  217 

"  Search  his  pockets/'  said  the  practical  Jenkins. 

They  did  so,  and  found  nothing  but  a  Harvard  Triennial 
Catalogue. 

"  Let  us  fly,"  said  Jenkins. 

"  Forward  to  the  boats  !  "  cried  the  enthusiastic  Chitter 
lings. 

But  C.  F.  Adams  Golightly  stood  gazing  thoughtfully  at 
the  prostrate  tutor. 

"  This/7  he  said  calmly,  "  is  the  result  of  a  too  free  gov 
ernment  and  the  common-school  system.  What  the  country 
needs  is  reform.  I  cannot  go  with  you,  boys.'7 

"  Traitor  !  "  screamed  the  others. 

C.  F.  A.  Golightly  smiled  sadly. 

"  You  know  me  not.  I  shall  not  become  a  pirate  —  but 
a  Congressman !  " 

Jenkins  and  Chitterlings  turned  pale. 

"  I  have  already  organized  two  caucuses  in  a  baseball 
club,  and  bribed  the  delegates  of  another.  Nay,  turn  not 
away.  Let  us  be  friends,  pursuing  through  various  ways 
one  common  end.  Farewell  ! "  They  shook  hands. 

u  But  where  is  Pirate  Jim  ?  "   asked  Jenkins. 

"  He  left  us  but  for  a  moment  to  raise  money  on  the 
watch  to  purchase  armament  for  the  scow.  Farewell !  " 

And  so  the  gallant,  youthful  spirits  parted,  bright  with 
the  sunrise  of  hope. 

That  night  a  conflagration  raged  in  Doemville.  The 
Doemville  Academy,  mysteriously  fired,  first  fell  a  victim 
to  the  devouring  element.  The  candy-shop  and  cigar-store, 
both  holding  heavy  liabilities  against  the  academy,  quickly 
followed.  By  the  lurid  gleams  of  the  flames,  a  long,  low, 
sloop-rigged  scow,  with  every  mast  gone  except  one,  slowly 
worked  her  way  out  of  the  mill-dam  towards  the  Sound. 
The  next  day  three  boys  were  missing  —  C.  F.  Adams 
Golightly,  B.  F.  Jenkins,  and  Bromley  Chitterlings.  Had 
they  perished  in  the  flames  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  Enough 


218  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

that  never  more  under  these  names  did  they  agp.in  appear  in 
the  homes  of  their  ancestors. 

Happy,  indeed,  would  it  have  been  for  Doemville  had 
the  mystery  ended  here.  But  a  darker  interest  and  scandal 
rested  upon  the  peaceful  village.  During  that  awful  night 
the  boarding-school  of  Madame  Brimborion  was  visited 
stealthily,  and  two  of  the  fairest  heiresses  of  Connecticut  — 
daughters  of  the  president  of  a  savings  bank  and  insurance 
director — were  the  next  morning  found  to  have  eloped. 
With  them  also  disappeared  the  entire  contents  of  the 
savings  bank,  and  on  the  following  day  the  Flamingo  Fire 
Insurance  Company  failed. 

CHAPTER  II 

Let  my  young  readers  now  sail  with  me  to  warmer  and 
more  hospitable  climes.  Off  the  coastj^JE&tagonia  a  long, 
low,  black  schooner  proudly  rides  the  seas,  that  break  softly 
upon  the  vine-clad  shores  of  that  luxuriant  land.  Who  is 
this  that,  wrapped  in  Persian  rugs,  and  dressed  in  the  most 
expensive  manner,  calmly  reclines  on  the  quarter-deck  of 
the  schooner,  toying  lightly  ever  and  anon  with  the  luscious 
fruits  of  the  vicinity,  held  in  baskets  of  solid  gold  by  Nubian 
slaves  ?  or  at  intervals,  with  daring  grace,  guides  an  ebony 
velocipede  over  the  polished  black  walnut  decks,  and  in  and 
out  the  intricacies  of  the  rigging  ?  Who  is  it  ?  well  may 
be  asked.  What  name  is  it  that  blanches  with  terror  the 
cheeks  of  the  Patagonian  navy  ?  Who  but  the  Pirate 
Prodigy  —  the  relentless  Boy  Scourer  of  Patagonian  seas  ? 
Voyagers  slowly  drifting  by  the  Silurian  beach,  coasters 
along  the  Devonian  shore,  still  shudder  at  the  name  of 
.  Bromley  Chitterlings  —  the  Boy  Avenger,  late  of  Hartford, 
Connecticut. 

It  has  been  often  asked  by  the  idly  curious,  Why 
Avenger,  and  of  what  ?  Let  us  not  seek  to  disclose  the 


THE    HOODLUM   BAND  219 

awful  secret  hidden  under  that  youthful  jacket.  Enough 
that  there  may  have  been  that  of  bitterness  in  his  past  life 
that  they 

"Whose  soul  would  sicken  o'er  the  heaving  wave,  " 

or  "  whose  soul  would  heave  above  the  sickening  wave," 
did  not  understand.  Only  one  knew  him,  perhaps  too  well 
—  a  queen  of  the  Amazons  taken  prisoner  off  Terra  del 
Fuego  a  week  previous.  She  loved  the  Boy  Avenger. 
But  in  vain ;  his  youthful  heart  seemed  obdurate. 

"  Hear  me,"  at  last  he  said,  when  she  had  for  the  seventh 
time  wildly  proffered  her  hand  and  her  kingdom  in  mar 
riage,  "  and  know  once  and  forever  why  I  must  decline  your 
flattering  proposal.  I  love  another." 

With  a  wild,  despairing  cry  she  leaped  into  the  sea,  but 
was  instantly  rescued  by  the  Pirate  Prodigy.  Yet,  even  in 
that  supreme  moment,  such  was  his  coolness,  that  on  his 
way  to  the  surface  he  captured  a  mermaid,  and  placing  her 
in  charge  of  his  steward,  with  directions  to  give  her  a  state 
room,  with  hot  and  cold  water,  calmly  resumed  his  place 
by  the  Amazon's  side.  When  the  cabin  door  closed  on  his 
faithful  servant,  bringing  champagne  and  ices  to  the  inter 
esting  stranger,  Chitterlings  resumed  his  narrative  with  a 
choking  voice  — 

"  When  I  first  fled  from  the  roof  of  a  tyrannical  parent 
I  loved  the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Eliza  J.  Sniffen. 
Her  father  was  president  of  the  Workingmen's  Savings 
Bank,  and  it  was  perfectly  understood  that  in  the  course  of 
time  the  entire  deposits  would  be  his.  But,  like  a  vain  fool, 
I  wished  to  anticipate  the  future,  and  in  a  wild  moment  per' 
tiuaded  Miss  Sniffen  to  elope  with  me ;  and  with  the  entire 
cash  assets  of  the  bank,  we  fled  together."  He  paused, 
overcome  with  emotion.  "  But  fate  decreed  it  otherwise. 
In  my  feverish  haste,  I  had  forgotten  to  place  among  the 
stores  of  my  pirate  craft  that  peculiar  kind  of  chocolate 


220  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

caramel  to  which  Eliza  Jane  was  most  partial.  We  were 
obliged  to  put  into  New  Rochelle  on  the  second  day  out,  to 
enable  Miss  Sniften  to  procure  that  delicacy  at  the  nearest 
confectioner's,  and  match  some  zephyr  worsteds  at  the  first 
fancy  shop.  Fatal  mistake.  She  went  —  she  never  re 
turned  !  "  In  a  moment  he  resumed,  in  a  choking  voice, 
"After  a  week's  weary  waiting,  I  was  obliged  to  put  to 
sea  again,  bearing  a  broken  heart  and  the  broken  bank  of 
her  father.  I  have  never  seen  her  since." 

"And  you  still  love  her?  "  asked  the  Amazon  queen 
excitedly. 

"  Ay,  forever!  " 

"  Noble  youth.  Here,  take  the  reward  of  thy  fidelity  ; 
for  know,  Bromley  Chitterlings,  that  I  am  Eliza  Jane. 
Wearied  with  waiting,  I  embarked  on  a  Peruvian  guano 
ship  —  it 's  a  long  story,  dear." 

"  And  altogether  too  thin,"  said  the  Boy  Avenger,  fiercely 
releasing  himself  from  her  encircling  arms.  "  Eliza  Jane's 
age,  a  year  ago,  was  only  thirteen,  and  you  are  forty,  if  a 
day." 

"  True,"  she  returned  sadly,  "  but  I  have  suffered  much, 
and  time  passes  rapidly,  and  I  've  grown.  You  would 
scarcely  believe  that  this  is  my  own  hair." 

"  I  know  not,"  he  replied,  in  gloomy  abstraction. 

"  Forgive  my  deceit,"  she  returned.  "  If  you  are  affi 
anced  to  another,  let  me  at  least  be  —  a  mother  to  you." 

The  Pirate  Prodigy  started,  and  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 
The  scene  was  affecting  in  the  extreme.  Several  of  the 
oldest  seamen  —  men  who  had  gone  through  scenes  of 
suffering  with  tearless  eyes  and  unblanched  cheeks-  —  now 
retired  to  the  spirit  room  to  conceal  their  emotion.  A  few 
went  into  caucus  in  the  forecastle,  and  returned  with  the 
request  that  the  Amazonian  queen  should  hereafter  be 
known  as  the  "  Queen  of  the  Pirates'  Isle." 

"  Mother  !  "  gasped  the  Pirate  Prodigy. 


THE   HOODLUM  BAND  221 

"  My  son  !  "  screamed  the  Amazonian  queen. 

They  embraced.  At  the  same  moment  a  loud  flop  was 
heard  on  the  quarter-deck.  It  was  the  forgotten  mermaid, 
who,  emerging  from  her  stateroom,  and  ascending  the 
companion-way  at  that  moment,  had  fainted  at  the  spec 
tacle.  The  Pirate  Prodigy  rushed  to  her  side  with  a  bottle 
of  smelling-salts. 

She  recovered  slowly.  "  Permit  me,"  she  said,  rising 
with  dignity,  "  to  leave  the  ship.  I  am  unaccustomed  to 
such  conduct.'7 

"  Hear  me  —  she  is  my  mother  !  " 

"  She  certainly  is  old  enough  to  be,"  replied  the  mer 
maid.  "  And  to  speak  of  that  being  her  own  hair  !  "  she 
said,  as  she  rearranged  with  characteristic  grace,  a  comb, 
and  a  small  hand-mirror,  her  own  luxuriant  tresses. 

"If  I  could  n't  afford  any  other  clothes,  I  might  wear  a 
switch,  too  !  "  hissed  the  Amazonian  queen.  "  I  suppose 
you  don't  dye  it  on  account  of  the  salt  water  ?  But  per 
haps  you  prefer  green,  dear  ?  " 

"  A  little  salt  water  might  improve  your  own  complexion 
love." 

"  Fishwoman  !  "  screamed  the  Amazonian  queen. 

"  Bloomerite  !  "  shrieked  the  mermaid. 

In  another  instant  they  had  seized  each  other. 

"  Mutiny  !  Overboard  with  them  !  "  cried  the  Pirate 
Prodigy,  rising  to  the  occasion,  and  casting  aside  all  human 
affection  in  the  peril  of  the  moment. 

A  plank  was  brought  and  the  two  women  placed  upon  it. 

"  After  you,  dear,"  said  the  mermaid  significantly  to  the 
Amazonian  queen  ;  "  you  're  the  oldest." 

"  Thank  you ! "  said  the  Amazonian  queen,  stepping 
back.  "  Fish  is  always  served  first." 

Stung  by  the  insult,  with  a  wild  scream  of  rage  the  mer 
maid  grappled  her  in  her  arms  and  leaped  into  the  sea. 

As  the  waters  closed  over  them  forever,  the  Pirate  Prod 


222  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

igy  sprung  to  his  feet.      "  Up  with  the  black  flag,  and  beai 

away  for  New  London,"  he  shouted  in  trumpet-like  tones. 
"  Ha  !   ha  !      Once  more  the  Rover  is  free  !  " 
Indeed  it   was  too  true.      In  that  fatal  moment   he  had 

again   loosed  himself   from  the    trammels  of   human  feeling 

and  was  once  more  the  Boy  Avenger. 


CHAPTER  III 

Again  I  must  ask  my  young  readers  to  mount  my  hippo- 
griff  and  hie  with  me  to  the  almost  inaccessible  heights  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  There,  for  years,  a  band  of  wild  and 
untamable  savages,  known  as  the  Pigeon  Feet,  had  resisted 
the  blankets  and  Bibles  of  civilization.  For  years  the  trails 
leading  to  their  camp  were  marked  by  the  bones  of  team 
sters  and  broken  wagons,  and  the  trees  were  decked  with 
the  dying  scalp-locks  of  women  and  children.  The  boldest 
of  military  leaders  hesitated  to  attack  them  in  their  for 
tresses,  and  prudently  left  the  scalping-knives,  rifles,  powder, 
and  shot  provided  by  a  paternal  government  for  their  wel 
fare  lying  on  the  ground  a  few  miles  from  their  encampment, 
with  the  request  that  they  were  not  to  be  used  until  the 
military  had  safely  retired.  Hitherto,  save  an  occasional 
incursion  into  the  territory  of  the  Knock-knees,  a  rival 
tribe,  they  had  limited  their  depredations  to  the  vicinity. 

But  lately  a  baleful  change  had  come  over  them.  Acting 
under  some  evil  influence,  they  now  pushed  their  warfare 
into  the  white  settlements,  carrying  fire  and  destruction 
with  them.  Again  and  again  had  the  Government  offered 
them  a  free  pass  to  Washington  and  the  privilege  of  being 
photographed,  but  under  the  same  evil  guidance  they 
refused.  There  was  a  singular  mystery  in  their  mode  of 
aggression.  Schoolhouses  were  always  burned,  the  school 
masters  taken  into  captivity,  and  never  again  heard  from. 


THE   HOODLUM   BAND  223 

A  palace  car  on  the  Union  Pacific  Railway,  containing  an 
excursion  party  of  teachers  en  route  to  San  Francisco,  was 
surrounded,  its  inmates  captured,  and  —  their  vacancies  in 
the  school  catalogue  never  again  filled.  Even  a  board  of 
educational  examiners,  proceeding  to  Cheyenne,  were  taken 
prisoners,  and  obliged  to  answer  questions  they  themselves 
had  proposed,  amidst  horrible  tortures.  By  degrees  these 
atrocities  were  traced  to  the  malign  influence  of  a  new 
chief  of  the  tribe.  As  yet  little  was  known  of  him  but 
through  his  baleful  appellations,  "  Young  Man  who  Goes 
for  His  Teacher,"  and  "  He  Lifts  the  Hair  of  the  School- 
Mann. "  He  was  said  to  be  small  and  exceedingly  youth 
ful  in  appearance.  Indeed,  his  earlier  appellative,  "  He 
Wipes  His  Nose  on  His  Sleeve,"  was  said  to  have  been 
given  to  him  to  indicate  his  still  boy-like  habits. 

It  was  night  in  the  encampment  and  among  the  lodges 
of  the  Pigeon  Toes.  Dusky  maidens  flitted  in  and  out 
among  the  campfires  like  brown  moths,  cooking  the  tooth 
some  buffalo-hump,  frying  the  fragrant  bear's-meat,  and 
jtewing  the  esculent  bean  for  the  braves.  For  a  few 
favored  ones  sput  grasshoppers  were  reserved  as  a  rare 
delicacy,  although  the  proud  Spartan  soul  of  their  chief 
scorned  all  such  luxuries. 

He  was  seated  alone  in  his  wigwam,  attended  only  by 
the  gentle  Mushy  mush,  fairest  of  the  Pigeon  Feet  maidens. 
Nowhere  were  the  characteristics  of  her  great  tribe  more 
plainly  shown  than  in  the  little  feet  that  lapped  over  each 
other  in  walking.  A  single  glance  at  the  chief  was  suffi 
cient  to  show  the  truth  of  the  wild  rumors  respecting  his 
youth.  He  was  scarcely  twelve,  of  proud  and  lofty  bear 
ing,  and  clad  completely  in  wrappings  of  various-colored 
scalloped  cloths,  which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  some 
what  extra-sized  penwiper.  An  enormous  eagle's  feather, 
torn  from  the  wing  of  a  bald  eagle  who  once  attempted  to 
iiarry  him  away,  completed  his  attire.  It  was  also  the 


224  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

memento  of  one  of  his  most  superhuman  feats  of  courage. 
He  would  undoubtedly  have  scalped  the  eagle  but  that 
nature  had  anticipated  him. 

"  Why  is  the  Great  Chief  sad  ?  "  said  Mushymush  softly. 
"  Does  his  soul  still  yearn  for  the  blood  of  the  palefaced 
teachers  ?  Did  not  the  scalping  of  two  professors  of 
geology  in  the  Yale  exploring  party  satisfy  his  warrior's 
heart  yesterday  ?  Has  he  forgotten  that  Gardener  and 
King  are  still  to  follow  ?  Shall  his  own  Mushymush  bring 
him  a  botanist  to-morrow  ?  Speak,  for  the  silence  of  my 
brother  lies  on  my  heart  like  the  snow  on  the  mountain,  and 
checks  the  flow  of  my  speech." 

Still  the  proud  Boy  Chief  sat  silent.  Suddenly  he  said, 
"  Hiss !  "  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Taking  a  long  rifle  from 
the  ground  he  adjusted  its  sight.  Exactly  seven  miles  away 
on  the  slope  of  the  mountain  the  figure  of  a  man  was  seen 
walking.  The  Boy  Chief  raised  the  rifle  to  his  unerring  eye 
and  fired.  The  man  fell. 

A  scout  was  dispatched  to  scalp  and  search  the  body. 
He  presently  returned. 

"  Who  was  the  paleface  ?  "  eagerly  asked  the  chief. 

"  A  life  insurance  agent." 

A  dark  scowl  settled  on  the  face  of  the  chief. 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  book  peddler." 

"  Why  is  my  brother's  heart  sore  against  the  book  ped 
dler  ?  "  asked  Mushymush. 

"Because,"  said  the  Boy  Chief  fiercely,  "I  am  again 
without  my  regular  dime  novel  —  and  I  thought  he  might 
have  one  in  his  pack.  Hear  me,  Mushymush.  The  United 
States  mails  no  longer  bring  me  my  '  Young  America '  or 
my  '  Boys'  and  Girls'  Weekly.'  I  find  it  impossible,  even 
with  my  fastest  scouts,  to  keep  up  with  the  rear  of  General 
Howard,  and  replenish  my  literature  from  the  sutler's 
wagon.  Without  a  dime  novel  or  a  f  Young  America,1 
how  am  I  to  keep  up  this  Injin  business  ?  " 


THE   HOODLUM   BAND  225 

Mushymush  remained  in  meditation  a  single  moment. 
Then  she  looked  up  proudly. 

"  My  brother  has  spoken.  It  is  well.  He  shall  have 
his  dime  novel.  He  shall  know  the  kind  of  hairpin  his 
sister  Mushymush  is." 

And  she  arose  and  gamboled  lightly  as  the  fawn  out  of 
his  presence. 

In  two  hours  she  returned.  In  one  hand  she  held  three 
small  flaxen  scalps,  in  the  other  "  The  Boy  Marauder,'" 
complete  in  one  volume,  price  ten  cents. 

"  Three  palefaced  children,"  she  gasped,  "  were  reading 
it  in  the  tail-end  of  an  emigrant  wagon.  I  crept  up  to  them 
softly.  Their  parents  are  still  unaware  of  the  accident/' 
and  she  sank  helpless  at  his  feet. 

"  Noble  girl !"  said  the  Boy  Chief,  gazing  proudly  on  her 
prostrate  form ;  "  and  these  are  the  people  that  a  military 
despotism  expects  to  subdue  ! " 

CHAPTER  IV 

But  the  capture  of  several  wagon-loads  of  commissary 
whiskey,  and  the  destruction  of  two  tons  of  stationery 
intended  for  the  general  commanding,  which  interfered  with 
his  regular  correspondence  with  the  War  Department,  at 
last  awakened  the  United  States  military  authorities  to 
active  exertion.  A  quantity  of  troops  were  massed  before 
the  Pigeon  Feet  encampment,  and  an  attack  was  hourly 
imminent. 

"  Shine  your  boots,  sir  ?  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  youth  in  humble  attire,  standing 
before  the  flap  of  the  commanding  general's  tent. 

The  general  raised  his  head  from  his  correspondence. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  looking  down  on  the  humble  boy,  "I 
see  ;  I  shall  write  that  the  appliances  of  civilization  move 
steadily  forward  with  the  army.  Yes,"  he  added,  "you 


226  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

may  shine  my  military  boots.  You  understand,  however, 
that  to  get  your  pay  you  must  first "  — 

"  Make  a  requisition  on  the  commissary-general,  have 
it  certified  to  by  the  quartermaster,  countersigned  by  the 
post-adjutant,  and  submitted  by  you  to  the  War  Depart 
ment  "  — 

"  And  charged  as  stationery,"  added  the  general  gently. 
"  You  are,  I  see,  an  intelligent  and  thoughtful  boy.  I 
trust  you  neithei-  use  whiskey,  tobacco,  nor  are  ever  pro 
fane  ?  " 

"  I  promised  my  sainted  mother"  — 

"  Enough  !  Go  on  with  your  blacking  ;  I  have  to  lead 
the  attack  on  the  Pigeon  Feet  at  eight  precisely.  It  is  now 
half  past  seven,"  said  the  general,  consulting  a  large  kitchen 
clock  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  his  tent. 

The  little  bootblack  looked  up  —  the  general  was  absorbed 
in  his  correspondence.  The  bootblack  drew  a  tin  putty- 
blower  from  his  pocket,  took  unerring  aim,  and  nailed  in 
a  single  shot  the  minute  hand  to  the  dial.  Going  on  with 
his  blacking,  yet  stopping  ever  and  anon  to  glance  over 
the  general's  plan  of  campaign,  spread  on  the  table  before 
him,  he  was  at  last  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  an 
officer. 

"  Everything  is  ready  for  the  attack,  general.  It  is  now 
eight  o'clock." 

"  Impossible  !      It  is  only  half  past  seven." 

"  But  my  watch,  and  the  watches  of  the  staff  "  — 

"  Are  regulated  by  my  kitchen  clock,  that  has  been  in 
my  family  for  years.  Enough  !  it  is  only  half  past  seven." 

The  officer  retired  ;  the  bootblack  had  finished  one  boot. 
Another  officer  appeared. 

"  Instead  of  attacking  the  enemy,  general,  we  are  attacked 
ourselves.  Our  pickets  are  already  driven  in." 

"  Military  pickets  should  not  differ  from  other  pickets," 
said  the  bootblack  modestly.  "  To  stand  firmly  they  should 
be  well  driven  in." 


THE    HOODLUM    BAND  227 

"  Ha !  there  is  something  in  that,"  said  the  general 
thoughtfully.  "  But  who  are  you,  who  speak  thus  ?  " 

Rising  to  his  full  height,  the  bootblack  threw  off  his 
outer  rags,  and  revealed  the  figure  of  the  Boy  Chief  of  the 
Pigeon  Feet. 

"  Treason  !  "  shrieked  the  general.  "  Order  an  advance 
along  the  whole  line." 

But  in  vain.  The  next  moment  he  fell  beneath  the  tom 
ahawk  of  the  Boy  Chief,  and  within  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  United  States  army  was  dispersed.  Thus  ended 
the  battle  of  Bootblack  Creek. 

CHAPTER  V 

And  yet  the  Boy  Chief  was  not  entirely  happy.  Indeed, 
at  times  he  seriously  thought  of  accepting  the  invitation 
extended  by  the  Great  Chief  at  Washington  immediately 
after  the  massacre  of  his  soldiers,  and  once  more  revisiting 
the  haunts  of  civilization.  His  soul  sickened  in  feverish 
inactivity  ;  schoolmasters  palled  on  his  taste  ;  he  had  intro 
duced  baseball,  blind  hooky,  marbles,  and  peg-top  among 
his  Indian  subjects,  but  only  with  indifferent  success.  The 
squaws  persisted  in  boring  holes  through  the  china  alleys 
and  wearing  them  as  necklaces  ;  his  warriors  stuck  pipes  in 
their  baseball  bats,  and  made  war-clubs  of  them.  He  could 
not  but  feel,  too,  that  the  gentle  Mushymush,  although 
devoted  to  her  paleface  brother,  was  deficient  in  culinary 
education.  Her  mince-pies  were  abominable  ;  her  jam  far 
inferior  to  that  made  by  his  Aunt  Sally  of  Doemville.  Only 
an  unexpected  incident  kept  him  equally  from  the  extreme 
of  listless  sybaritic  indulgence  or  of  morbid  cynicism.  In 
deed,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  he  already  had  become  disgusted 
with  existence. 

He  had  returned  to  his  wigwam  after  an  exhausting 
buffalo  hunt,  in  which  he  had  slain  two  hundred  and  sev- 


f 


228  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

enty-five  buffaloes  with  his  own  hand,  not  counting  the 
individual  buffalo  on  which  he  had  leaped,  so  as  to  join  the 
herd,  and  which  he  afterward  led  into  the  camp  a  captive 
and  a  present  to  the  lovely  Mushymush.  He  had  scalped 
two  express  riders,  and  a  correspondent  of  the  "  New  York 
Herald  ;  "  had  despoiled  the  Overland  Mail  stage  of  a  quan 
tity  of  vouchers  which  enabled  him  to  draw  double  rations 
from  the  Government,  and  was  reclining  on  a  bearskin, 
smoking  and  thinking  of  the  vanity  of  human  endeavor, 
when  a  scout  entered,  saying  that  a  paleface  youth  had 
demanded  access  to  his  person. 

"  Is  he  a  commissioner  ?  If  so,  say  that  the  red  man  is 
rapidly  passing  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds  of  his  fathers, 
and  now  desires  only  peace,  blankets,  and  ammunition ; 
obtain  the  latter,  and  then  scalp  the  commissioner. " 

"  But  it  is  only  a  youth  who  asks  an  interview." 

"  Does  he  look  like  an  insurance  agent  ?  If  so,  say 
that  I  have  already  policies  in  three  Hartford  companies. 
Meanwhile  prepare  the  stake,  and  see  that  the  squaws  are 
ready  with  their  implements  of  torture." 

The  youth  was  admitted  ;  he  was  evidently  only  half  the 
age  of  the  Boy  Chief.  As  he  entered  the  wigwam,  and 
stood  revealed  to  his  host,  they  both  started.  In  another 
moment  they  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

"  Jenky,  old  boy  !  " 

"  Bromley,  old  fel !  " 

B.  F.  Jenkins,  for  such  was  the  name  of  the  Boy  Chief, 
was  the  first  to  recover  his  calmness.  Turning  to  his  war- 
Tiors  he  said  proudly,  — 

"  Let  my  children  retire  while  I  speak  to  the  agent  of 
5ur  Great  Father  in  Washington.  Hereafter  no  latch-keys 
will  be  provided  for  the  wigwams  of  the  warriors.  The 
practice  of  late  hours  must  be  discouraged." 

"  How !  "  said  the  warriors,  and  instantly  retired. 

"  Whisper ! "    said    Jenkins,    drawing    his  friend  aside 


THE   HOODLUM  BAND  229 

"  I  am  known  here  only  as  the  Boy  Chief  of  the  Pigeon 
Toes." 

"  And  I,"  said  Bromley  Chitterlings  proudly,  "  am  known 
everywhere  as  the  Pirate  Prodigy  —  the  Boy  Avenger  of 
the  Patagonian  coast." 

"  But  how  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  Listen !  My  pirate  brig,  the  Lively  Mermaid,  nc»w 
lies  at  Meiggs's  wharf  in  San  Francisco,  disguised  as  a  Men- 
docino  lumber  vessel.  My  pirate  crew  accompanied  me 
here  in  a  palace  car  from  San  Francisco." 

"  It  must  have  been  expensive,"  said  the  prudent  Jen 
kins. 

"  It  was,  but  they  defrayed  it  by  a  collection  from  the 
other  passengers,  you  understand.  The  papers  will  be  full 
of  it  to-morrow.  Do  you  take  in  the  '  New  York  Sun '  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  dislike  their  Indian  policy.  But  why  are  you 
here  ?  " 

"  Hear  me,  Jenk  !  'T  is  a  long  and  a  sad  story.  The 
lovely  Eliza  J.  Sniffen,  who  fled  with  me  from  Doemville, 
was  seized  by  her  parents  and  torn  from  my  arms  at  New 
Rochelle.  Reduced  to  poverty  by  the  breaking  of  the  sav 
ings  bank  of  which  he  was  president  —  a  failure  to  which 
I  largely  contributed,  and  the  profits  of  which  I  enjoyed  — 
I  have  since  ascertained  that  Eliza  Jane  Sniffen  was  forced 
to  become  a  schoolmistress,  departed  to  take  charge  of  a 
seminary  in  Colorado,  and  since  then  has  never  been  heard 
from." 

Why  did  the  Boy  Chief  turn  pale,  and  clutch  at  the 
tent-pole  for  support  ?  Why,  indeed  ? 

"  Eliza  Jane  Sniffen,"  gasped  Jenkins,  —  "  aged  fourteen, 
red-haired,  with  a  slight  tendency  to  strabismus  ?  " 

"The  same." 

"  Heaven  help  me  !     She  died  by  my  mandate  !  " 

"  Traitor  !  "  shrieked  Chitterlings,  rushing  at  Jenkins 
with  a  drawn  poniard. 


230  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

But  a  figure  interposed.  The  slight  girlish  form  of 
Mushymush  with  outstretched  hands  stood  between  the 
exasperated  Pirate  Prodigy  and  the  Boy  Chief. 

"  Forbear,"  she  said  sternly  to  Chitterlings  ;  "  you  know 
lot  what  you  do." 

The  two  youths  paused. 

"  Hear  me,"  she  said  rapidly.  "  When  captured  in  a 
confectioner's  shop  at  New  Rochelle,  E.  J.  SniiFen  was 
taken  back  to  poverty.  She  resolved  to  become  a  school 
mistress.  Hearing  of  an  opening  in  the  West,  she  pro 
ceeded  to  Colorado  to  take  exclusive  charge  of  the  pension- 
nat  of  Mdme.  Choflie,  late  of  Paris.  On  the  way  thither 
she  was  captured  by  the  emissaries  of  the  Boy  Chief  "  — 

"  In  consummation  of  a  fatal  vow  I  made,  never  to  spare 
educational  instructors,"  interrupted  Jenkins. 

"  But  in  her  captivity,"  continued  Mushymush,  "  she 
managed  to  stain  her  face  with  poke- berry  juice,  and  min 
gling  with  the  Indian  maidens  was  enabled  to  pass  for  one 
of  the  tribe.  Once  undetected,  she  boldly  ingratiated  her 
self  with  the  Boy  Chief,  —  how  honestly  and  devotedly  he 
best  can  tell, — for  I,  Mushymush,  the  little  sister  of  the 
Boy  Chief,  am  Eliza  Jane  Sniffen." 

The  Pirate  Prodigy  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  The  Boy 
Chief,  raising  his  hand,  ejaculated,  — 

"  Bless  you,  my  children  !  " 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  wanting  to  complete  this  re 
union,"  said  Chitterlings,  after  a  pause,  but  the  hurried 
entrance  of  a  scout  stopped  his  utterance. 

"  A  commissioner  from  the  Great  Father  in  Washington." 
/""""  Scalp  him  !  "  shrieked  the  Boy  Chief  ;  "  this  is  no  time 
for  diplomatic  trifling." 

"  We  have  ;  but  he  still  insists  upon  seeing  you,  and  has 
sent  in  his  card." 

The  Boy  Chief  took  it,  and  read  aloud,  in  agonized 
accents,  — 


THE   HOODLUM   BAND  231 

"  Charles  Francis  Adams  Golightly,  late  page  in  United 
States  Senate,  and  acting  commissioner  of  United  States." 

In  another  moment,  Golightly,  pale,  bleeding,  and.  as  it 
were,  prematurely  bald,  but  still  cold  and  intellectual,  en 
tered  the  wigwam.  They  fell  upon  his  neck  and  begged 
his  forgiveness. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said  quietly  ;  "  these  things  must 
•and  will  happen  under  our  present  system  of  government. 
"My  story  is  brief.  Obtaining  political  influence  through 
caucuses,  I  became  at  last  page  in  the  Senate.  Through 
the  exertions  of  political  friends,  I  was  appointed  clerk  to 
the  commissioner  whose  functions  I  now  represent.  Know 
ing  through  political  spies  in  your  own  camp  who  you  were, 
I  acted  upon  the  physical  fears  of  the  commissioner,  who 
was  an  ex-clergyman,  and  easily  induced  him  to  deputize 
me  to  consult  with  you.  In  doing  so,  I  have  lost  my  scalp, 
but  as  the  hirsute  signs  of  juvenility  have  worked  against 
my  political  progress,  I  do  not  regret  it.  As  a  partially 
bald  young  man  I  shall  have  more  power.  The  terms  that 
I  have  to  offer  are  simply  this :  you  can  do  everything  you 
want,  go  anywhere  you  choose,  if  you  will  only  leave  this 
place.  I  have  a  hundred-thousand-dollar  draft  on  the 
United  States  Treasury  in  my  pocket  at  your  immediate 
disposal." 

"  But  what 's  to  become  of  me  ?  "   asked  Chitterlings. 

"  Your  case  has  already  been  under  advisement.  The 
Secretary  of  State,  who  is  an  intelligent  man,  has  deter 
mined  to  recognize  you  as  de  jure  and  de  facto  the  only 
loyal  representative  of  the  Patagonian  Government.  You 
may  safely  proceed  to  Washington  as  its  envoy  extraordi 
nary.  I  dine  with  the  secretary  next  week." 

"  And  yourself,  old  fellow  ?" 

"  I  only  wish  that  twenty  years  from  now  you  will  recog 
nize  by  your  influence  and  votes  the  rights  of  C.  F.  A 
Golightly  to  the  presidency." 


232  CONDENSED   NOVELS 

And  here  ends  our  story.  Trusting  that  my  dear  young 
friends  may  take  whatever  example  or  moral  their  respec 
tive  parents  and  guardians  may  deem  fittest  from  these 
pages,  I  hope  in  future  years  to  portray  further  the  career 
of  those  three  young  heroes  I  have  already  introduced  in 
the  springtime  of  life  to  their  charitable  consideration. 


EARLIER  SKETCHES 


M'LISS 

AN  IDYL  OF  RED  MOUNTAIN 

THERE  are  two  forms  of  this  tale.  The  earlier  one  is  that 
printed  originally  in  The  Golden  Era  and  afterward  and  until 
this  time  included  in  Mr.  Harte's  collected  writings.  It  is  com 
prised  in  four  chapters  and  occupies  about  thirty  pages.  When 
the  present  edition  was  under  consideration,  Mr.  Harte  called 
his  publishers'  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  editor  of  the  same 
paper  proposed  to  him  some  time  later  to  continue  it  as  a  serial. 
In  order  to  do  this,  he  found  himself  obliged  to  make  some 
changes  in  the  earlier  incidents.  Accordingly  he  repu Wished  the 
story  in  its  first  form,  but  with  some  interpolations  and  altera 
tions,  and  then  proceeded  with  other  chapters,  making  ten  in  all, 
"  concluding  it,"  he  says,  "  rather  abruptly  when  I  found  it  was 
inartistically  prolonged."  This  was  in  1863.  But  even  thus 
the  story  was  not  to  be  let  alone.  Ten  years  later,  in  1873, 
another  writer  took  the  tale  up  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  chapter, 
added  fifty  more,  and  issued  the  whole  in  The  Golden  Era. 
When  the  continuation  had  been  running  some  time,  Mr.  Harte 
discovered  the  fraud,  and  inserted  a  card  in  the  same  paper, 
advising  the  public  that  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
this  further  amplification  of  his  story.  Afterward,  when  the 
whole  was  published  in  book  form,  he  instituted  legal  proceed 
ings  and  suppressed  the  sale. 

The  present  form  is  Mr.  Harte's  revision  and  extension  of  his 
first,  and  is  reprinted  from  The  Golden  Era  with  his  consent. 

EDITOR. 


234  EARLIER   SKETCHES 


CHAPTER  I 


/JusT  where  the  Sierra  Nevada  begins  to  subside  in  gen 
tle  undulations,  and  the  rivers  grow  less  rapid  and  yellow, 
on  the  side  of  a  great  red  mountain  stands  Smith's 
Pocket.  Seen  from  the  red  road  at  sunset,  in  the  red  light 
and  the  red  dust,  its  white  houses  look  like  the  outcrop- 
pings  of  quartz  on  the  mountain  side.  The  red  stage, 
topped  with  red-shirted  passengers,  is  lost  to  view  half  a 
dozen  times  in  the  tortuous  descent,  turning  up  unex 
pectedly  in  out-of-the-way  places,  and  vanishing  altogether 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  town.j  It  is  probably  owing 
to  this  sudden  twist  in  the  road  that  the  advent  of  a  stran 
ger  at  Smith's  Pocket  is  usually  attended  with  a  peculiar 
circumstance.  Dismounting  from  the  vehicle  at  the  stage 
office  the  too-confident  traveler  is  apt  to  walk  straight  out 
of  town  under  the  impression  that  it  lies  in  quite  another 
direction.  I»t  is  related  that  one  of  the  tunnel  men,  two 
miles  from  town,  met  one  of  these  self-reliant  passengers 
with  a  carpetbag,  umbrella,  "  Harper's  Magazine,"  and  other 
evidences  of  "  civilization  and  refinement/'  plodding  along 
over  the  road  he  had  just  ridden,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
find  the  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket. 

Had  he  been  an  observant  traveler  he  might  have  found 
some  compensation  for  his  disappointment  in  the  weird 
aspect  of  that  vicinity.  There  were  huge  fissures  on  the 
hillside,  and  displacements  of  the  red  soil,  resembling  more 
the  chaos  of  some  primary  elementary  upheaval  than  the 
work  of  man  ;  while,  halfway  down,  a  long  flume  straddled 
its  narrow  body  and  disproportionate  legs  over  the  chasm, 
like  an  enormous  fossil  of  some  forgotten  antediluvian. 
A-t  every  step  smaller  ditches  crossed  the  road,  hiding  in 


M'LISS  235 

their  shallow  depths  unlovely  streams  that  crept  away  to  a 
clandestine  union  with  the  great  yellow  torrent  below.  Here 
and  there  the  ruins  of  some  cabin,  with  the  chimney  alone 
left  intact  and  the  hearthstone  open  to  the  skies,  gave  such 
a  flat  contradiction  to  the  poetic  delusion  of  Lares  and 
Penates  that  the  heart  of  the  traveler  must  have  collapsed 
as  he  gazed,  and  even  the  bar-room  of  the  National  Hotel 
have  afterward  seemed  festive,  and  invested  with  preternat 
ural  comfort  and  domesticity. 

The  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket  owed  its  origin  to  the 
finding  of  a  "  pocket "  on  its  site  by  a  veritable  Smith. 
Five  thousand  dollars  were  taken  out  of  it  in  one  half-hour 
by  Smith.  Three  thousand  dollars  were  expended  by 
Smith  and  others  in  erecting  a  flume  and  in  tunneling. 
And  then  Smith's  Pocket  was  found  to  be  only  a  pocket, 
and  subject  like  other  pockets  to  depletion.  Although 
Smith  pierced  the  bowels  of  the  great  red  mountain,  that 
five  thousand  dollars  was  the  first  and  the  last  return  of  his 
labor.  The  mountain  grew  reticent  of  its  golden  secrets, 
and  the  flume  steadily  ebbed  away  the  remainder  of  Smith's 
fortune.  Then  Smith  went  into  quartz  mining.  Then  into 
quartz  milling.  Then  into  hydraulics  and  ditching,  and 
then  by  easy  degrees  into  saloon  keeping.  Presently  it 
was  whispered  that  Smith  was  drinking  a  good  deal ;  then 
it  was  known  that  Smith  was  an  habitual  drunkard ;  and 
then  people  began  to  think,  as  they  are  apt  to,  that  he  had 
never  been  anything  else.  But  the  settlement  of  Smith's 
Pocket,  like  that  of  most  discoveries,  was  happily  not 
dependent  on  the  fortune  of  its  pioneer,  and  other  parties 
projected  tunnels  and  found  pockets.  So  Smith's  Pocket 
became  a  settlement  with  its  two  fancy  stores,  its  two  hotels, 
its  one  express  office,  and  its  two  first  families.  Occasion 
ally  its  one  long  straggling  street  was  overawed  hy  the 
assumption  of  the  latest  San  Francisco  fashions,  imported 
per  express,  exclusively  to  the  first  families  ;  making  out- 


236  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

raged  nature,  in  the  ragged  outline  of  her  furrowed  surface, 
look  still  more  homely,  and  putting  personal  insult  on  that 
greater  portion  of  the  population  to  whom  the  Sabbath,  with 
a  change  of  linen,  brought  merely  the  necessity  of  cleanliness 
without  the  luxury  of  adornment.  Then  there  was  a 
Methodist  church,  and  hard  by  a  monte  bank,  and  a  little 
beyond,  on  the  mountain  side,  a  graveyard  ;  and  then  a  little 
schoolhouse. 

"  The  master,"  as  he  was  known  to  his  little  flock,  sat 
alone  one  night  in  the  schoolhouse,  with  some  open  copy 
books  before  him,  carefully  making  those  bold  and  full 
characters  which  are  supposed  to  combine  the  extremes  of 
chirographical  and  moral  excellence,  and  had  got  as  far  as 
"  Riches  are  deceitful,"  and  was  elaborating  the  noun  with 
an  insincerity  of  flourish  that  was  quite  in  the  spirit  of  his 
text,  when  he  heard  a  gentle  tapping.  The  woodpeckers 
had  been  busy  about  the  roof,  during  the  day,  and  the  noise 
did  not  disturb  his  work.  But  the  opening  of  the  door,  and 
the  tapping  continuing  from  the  inside,  caused  him  to  look 
up.  He  was  slightly  startled  by  the  figure  of  a  young  girl, 
dirty,  and  shabbily  clad.  Still  her  great  black  eyes,  her 
coarse  uncombed  lusterless  black  hair  falling  over  her  sun 
burned  face,  her  red  arms  and  feet  streaked  with  the  red 
soil,  were  all  familiar  to  him.  It  was  Melissa  Smith  — 
Smith's  motherless  child. 

"  What  can  she  want  here  ?  "  thought  the  master.  Every 
body  knew  "M'liss,"  as  she  was  called,  throughout  the 
length  and  height  of  Ked  Mountain.  Everybody  knew  her 
as  an  incorrigible  girl.  Her  fierce,  ungovernable  disposition, 
her  mad  freaks  and  lawless  character,  were  in  their  way  as 
proverbial  as  the  story  of  her  father's  weakness,  and  as 
philosophically  accepted  by  the  townsfolk.  She  wrangled 
with  and  fought  the  schoolboys  with  keener  invective  and 
quite  as  powerful  arm.  She  followed  the  trails  with  wood 
man's  craft,  and  the  master  had  met  her  before,  miles  away, 


M'LISS  237 

shoeless,  stockingless,  and  bareheaded  on  the  mountain  road. 
The  miners'  camps  along  the  stream  supplied  her  with  sub 
sistence  during  these  voluntary  pilgrimages,  in  freely  offered 
alms.  Not  but  that  a  larger  protection  had  been  previously 
extended  to  M'liss.  The  Eev.  Joshua  McSnagley,  "  stated  " 
•readier,  had  placed  her  in  the  hotel  as  servant,  by  way 
of  preliminary  refinement,  and  had  introduced  her  to  his 
scholars  at  Sunday-school.  But  she  threw  plates  occasion 
ally  at  the  landlord,  and  quickly  retorted  to  the  cheap 
witticisms  of  the  guests,  and  created  in  the  Sabbath-school 
a  sensation  that  was  so  inimical  to  the  orthodox  dullness 
and  placidity  of  that  institution,  that,  with  a  decent  regard 
for  the  starched  frocks  and  unblemished  morals  of  the 
two  pink-and-white-faced  children  of  the  first  families,  the 
reverend  gentleman  had  her  ignominiously  expelled.  Such 
were  the  antecedents  and  such  the  character  of  M'liss,  as 
she  stood  before  the  master.  It  was  shown  in  the  ragged 
dress,  the  unkempt  hair  and  bleeding  feet,  and  asked  his 
pity.  It  flashed  from  her  black  fearless  eyes,  and  commanded 
his  respect. 

"  I  come  here  to-night,"  she  said  rapidly  and  boldly, 
keeping  her  hard  glance  on  his,  "  because  I  knew  you  was 
alone.  I  would  n't  come  here  when  them  gals  was  here.  I 
hate  'em  and  they  hates  me.  That's  why.  You  keep 
school,  —  don't  you  ?  I  want  to  be  teached  !  " 

If  to  the  shabbiness  of  her  apparel  and  uncomeliness  of 
her  tangled  hair  and  dirty  face  she  had  added  the  humility 
of  tears  the  master  would  have  extended  to  her  the  usual 
moiety  of  pity,  and  nothing  more.  But  with  the  natural 
though  illogical  instincts  of  his  species,  her  boldness  awak 
ened  in  him  something  of  that  respect  which  all  original 
natures  pay  unconsciously  to  one  another  in  any  grade. 
And  he  gazed  at  her  the  more  fixedly  as  she  went  on  still 
rapidly,  her  hand  on  the  door-latch  and  her  eyes  on  his. 

"  My  name  is  M'liss  —  M'liss  Smith  !    You  can  bet  your 


238  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

life  on  that.  My  father 's  Old  Smith  —  Old  Bummer  Smith 
—  that 's  what  's  the  matter  with  him.  M'liss  Smith  — 
and  I  'm  comin'  to  school !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  master. 

Accustomed  to  be  thwarted  and  opposed,  often  wantonly 
and  cruelly,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  excite  the  violent 
impulses  of  her  nature,  the  master's  phlegm  evidently  took 
her  by  surprise.  She  stopped.  She  began  to  twist  a  lock 
of  her  hair  between  her  fingers  ;  and  the  rigid  line  of  upper 
lip,  drawn  over  the  wicked  little  teeth,  relaxed  and  quivered 
slightly.  Then  her  eyes  dropped,  and  something  like  a  blush 
struggled  up  to  her  cheek,  and  tried  to  assert  itself  through 
the  splashes  of  redder  soil  and  the  sunburn  of  years. 
Suddenly  she  threw  herself  forward,  calling  on  God  to 
strike  her  dead,  and  fell  quite  weak  and  helpless,  with  her 
face  on  the  master's  desk,  crying  and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

The  master  lifted  her  gently,  and  waited  for  the  paroxysm 
to  pass.  When,  with  face  still  averted,  she  was  repeating 
between  her  sobs  the  mea  culpa  of  childish  penitence  — 
that  "  she'd  be  good,  she  didn't  mean  to,"  etc.,  it  came  to 
him  to  ask  her  why  she  had  left  Sabbath-school. 

Why  had  she  left  Sabbath-school  ?  Why  ?  Oh,  yes. 
What  did  he  (McSnagley)  want  to  tell  her  she  was  wicked 
for  ?  What  did  he  tell  her  that  God  hated  her  for  ?  If 
God  hated  her,  what  did  she  want  to  go  to  Sabbath  school 
for  ?  She  did  n't  want  to  be  beholden  to  anybody  whr 
hated  her. 

Had  she  told  McSnagley  this  ? 

Yes,  she  had. 

The  master  laughed.  It  was  a  hearty  laugh,  and  echoed 
BO  oddly  in  the  little  schoolhouse,  and  seemed  so  inconsist 
ent  and  discordant  with  the  sighing  of  the  pines  without, 
that  he  shortly  corrected  himself  with  a  sigh.  The  sigh 
was  quite  as  sincere  in  its  way,  however,  and  after  a  mo 
ment  of  serious  silence  he  asked  about  her  father. 


M'LISS  239 

Her  father.  What  father  ?  Whose  father  ?  What  had 
he  ever  done  for  her  ?  Why  did  the  girls  hate  her  ?  Come, 
now !  What  made  the  folks  say,  "  Old  Bummer  Smith's 
M'liss  "  when  she  passed  ?  Yes  ;  oh,  yes.  She  wished  he 
was  dead  —  she  was  dead  —  everybody  was  dead  ;  and  her 
sobs  broke  forth  anew. 

The  master  then,  leaning  over  her,  told  her,  as  well  as  he 
could,  what  you  or  I  might  have  said  after  hearing  such 
unnatural  theories  from  childish  lips ;  only  bearing  in  mind 
perhaps  better  than  you  or  I  the  unnatural  facts  of  her 
ragged  dress,  her  bleeding  feet,  and  the  omnipresent  shadow 
of  her  drunken  father.  Then  raising  her  to  her  feet,  he 
wrapped  his  shawl  around  her,  and  bidding  her  come  early 
in  the  morning  he  walked  with  her  down  the  road.  Then 
he  bade  her  "  good-night."  The  moon  shone  brightly  on 
the  narrow  path  before  them.  He  stood  and  watched  the 
bent  little  figure  as  it  staggered  down  the  road,  and  waited 
until  it  had  passed  the  little  graveyard  and  reached  the 
curve  of  the  hill,  where  it  turned  and  stood  for  a  moment, 
a  mere  atom  of  suffering  outlined  against  the  far-off  patient 
etars.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  work.  But  the  lines  of 
the  copybook  thereafter  faded  into  long  parallels  of  never- 
ending  road,  over  which  childish  figures  seemed  to  pass 
sobbing  and  crying  to  the  night.  Then,  the  little  school- 
house  seeming  lonelier  than  before,  he  shut  the  door  and 
went  home. 

The  next  morning  M'liss  came  to  school.  Her  face  had 
been  washed,  and  her  coarse  black  hair  bore  evidence  of 
recent  struggles  with  the  comb,  in  which  both  had  evidently 
suffered.  The  old  defiant  look  shone  occasionally  in  her 
eyes,  but  her  manner  was  tamer  and  more  subdued.  Then 
began  a  series  of  little  trials  and  self-sacrifices  in  which 
master  and  pupil  bore  an  equal  part,  and  which  increased 
the  confidence  and  sympathy  between  them.  Although 
•bedient  under  the  master's  eye,  at  times  during  recess,  if 


240  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

thwarted  or  stung  by  a  fancied  slight,  M'liss  would  rage  in 
ungovernable  fury,  and  many  a  palpitating  young  savage, 
finding  himself  matched  with  his  own  weapons  of  torment, 
would  seek  the  master  with  torn  jacket  and  scratched  face, 
and  complaints  of  the  dreadful  M'liss.  There  was  a  serious 
division  among  the  townspeople  on  the  subject ;  some  threat 
ening  to  withdraw  their  children  from  such  evil  companion 
ship,  and  others  as  warmly  upholding  the  course  of  the 
master  in  his  work  of  reclamation.  Meanwhile,  with  a 
steady  persistence  that  seemed  quite  astonishing  to  him  on 
looking  back  afterward,  the  Master  drew  M'liss  gradually 
out  of  the  shadow  of  her  past  life,  as  though  it  were  but 
her  natural  progress  down  the  narrow  path  on  which  he 
had  set  her  feet  the  moonlight  night  of  their  first  meeting. 
Remembering  the  experience  of  the  evangelical  McSnagley, 
he  carefully  avoided  that  Rock  of  Ages  on  which  that  un 
skillful  pilot  had  shipwrecked  her  young  faith.  But  if,  in 
the  course  of  her  reading,  she  chanced  to  stumble  upon 
those  few  words  which  have  lifted  such  as  she  above  the 
level  of  the  older,  the  wiser,  and  the  more  prudent,  —  if  she 
learned  something  of  a  faith  that  is  symbolized  by  suffering, 
and  the  old  light  softened  in  her  eyes,  it  did  not  take  the 
shape  of  a  lesson.  A  few  of  the  plainer  people  had  made 
up  a  little  sum  by  which  the  ragged  M'liss  was  enabled  to 
assume  the  garments  of  respect  and  civilization,  and  often  a 
rough  shake  of  the  hand  and  words  of  commendation  from 
a  red-shirted  and  burly  figure,  sent  a  glow  to  the  cheek  of 
the  young  master  and  set  him  to  thinking  if  it  was  alto 
gether  deserved. 

Three  months  had  passed,  from  the  time  of  their  first 
meeting,  and  the  master  was  sitting  late  one  evening  over 
the  moral  and  sententious  copies,  when  there  came  a  tap  at 
the  door,  and  again  M'liss  stood  before  him.  She  was 
neatly  clad  and  clean-faced,  and  there  was  nothing  perl  japs 
but  the  long  black  hair  and  bright  black  eyes  to  remind  him 


M'LISS  241 

of  his  former  apparition.  "  Are  you  busy  ?  "  she  asked  ; 
"  can  you  come  with  me  ?  "  and  on  his  signifying  his  readi 
ness,  in  her  old  willful  way  she  said,  "  Come,  then,  quick !  " 

They  passed  out  of  the  door  together  and  into  the  dark 
road.  As  they  entered  the  town,  the  master  asked  hei 
whither  she  was  going.  She  replied,  "  to  see  her  father." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard  her  use  that  filial 
expression,  or,  indeed,  allude  to  him  in  any  other  way  than 
"  Old  Smith  "  or  the  "  Old  Man."  It  was  the  first  time  in 
many  weeks  that  she  had  spoken  of  him  at  all.  He  had 
been  missed  from  the  settlement  for  the  past  fortnight,  and 
the  master  had  credited  the  rumors  of  the  townsfolk  that 
Smith  had  "  struck  something  rich  "  on  the  "  North  Fork," 
about  ten  miles  from  the  village.  As  they  neared  the  set 
tlement,  the  master  gathered  from  M'liss  that  the  rumor 
was  untrue,  and  that  she  had  seen  her  father  that  day. 
As  she  grew  reticent  to  further  questioning,  and  as  the 
master  was  satisfied  from  her  manner  that  she  had  some 
definite  purpose  beyond  her  usual  willfulness,  he  passively 
resigned  himself  and  followed  her. 

Through  remote  groggeries,  restaurants,  and  saloons  ;  in 
gambling-hells  and  dance-houses,  the  master,  preceded  by 
M'liss,  passed  and  repassed.  In  the  reeking  smoke  and 
blasphemous  outcries  of  noisome  dens,  the  child,  holding 
the  master's  hand,  pursued  her  search  with  a  strange  famil 
iarity,  perfect  self-possession,  and  implied  protection  of 
himself,  that  even  in  his  anxiety  seemed  ludicrous.  Some 
of  the  revelers,  recognizing  M'liss,  called  to  her  to  sing  and 
dance  for  them,  and  would  have  forced  liquor  upon  her  but 
for  the  master's  interference.  Others  mutely  made  way  for 
them.  So  an  hour  slipped  by,  and  as  yet  their  search  was 
fruitless.  The  master  had  yawned  once  or  twice  and 
whistled,  —  two  fatal  signs  of  failing  interest,  —  and  finally 
came  to  a  full  stop. 

"  It 's  half  past  eleven,  Melissa/'  said  he,  consulting  hia 


242  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

watch  by  a  broad  pencil  of  light  from  an  open  shutter,  — 
"  half  past  eleven ;  and  it  strikes  me  that  our  old  friends, 
the  woodpeckers,  must  have  gone  to  bed  some  hours  ago, 
unless  they  are  waiting  up  for  us.  I  'm  much  obliged  to 
you  for  the  evening's  entertainment,  but  I  'm  afraid  that  even 
the  pretext  of  looking  for  a  parent  won't  excuse  further  dis 
sipation.  We  ?d  better  put  this  off  till  to-morrow.  What 
do  you  say,  Melissa  ?  Why  !  what  ails  the  child  ?  What 's 
that  noise  ?  Why,  a  pistol !  —  You  're  not  afraid  of  that  ?  " 

Few  children  brought  up  in  the  primeval  seclusion  of 
Smith's  Pocket  were  unfamiliar  with  those  quick  and  sharp 
notes  which  usually  rendered  the  evening  zephyrs  of  that 
locality  vocal  ;  certainly  not  M'liss,  to  have  started  when 
that  report  rang  on  the  clear  night  air.  The  echoes  caught 
it  as  usual,  and  carried  it  round  and  round  Red  Mountain, 
and  set  the  dogs  to  barking  all  along  the  streams.  The 
lights  seemed  to  dance  and  move  quickly  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  for  a  few  moments  afterward,  the  stream  sud 
denly  rippled  quite  audibly  behind  them,  a  few  stones  loos 
ened  themselves  from  the  hillside  and  splashed  into  the 
stream,  a  heavy  wind  seemed  to  suage  the  branches  of  the 
funereal  pines,  and  then  the  silence  fell  again,  heavier,  dead 
lier  than  ever. 

When  the  last  echo  had  died  away,  the  master  felt  his 
companion's  hand  relax  its  grasp.  Taking  advantage  of 
this  outward  expression  of  tractability,  he  drew  her  gently 
with  him  until  they  reached  the  hotel,  which  —  in  her 
newer  aspect  of  a  guest  whose  board  was  secured  by  respon 
sible  parties  —  had  forgivingly  opened  its  hospitable  doors 
to  the  vagrant  child.  Here  the  master  lingered  a  moment 
to  assure  her  that  she  might  count  upon  his  assistance  to 
morrow  ;  and  having  satisfied  his  conscience  by  this  antici 
pated  duty,  bade  her  good-night.  In  the  darkness  of  the 
road  —  going  astray  several  times  on  his  way  home,  and 
narrowly  escaping  the  yawning  ditches  in  the  trail  —  he  had 


M'LISS  243 

reason  to  commend  his  foresight  in  dissuading  M'liss  from 
a  further  search  that  night,  and  in  this  pleasant  reflection 
went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly. 

For  some  hours  after  a  darkness  thick  and  heavy  brooded 
over  the  settlement.  The  sombre  pines  encompassing  the 
village  seemed  to  close  threateningly  about  it  as  if  to  reclaim 
the  wilderness  that  had  been  wrested  from  them.  A  low 
rustling  as  of  dead  leaves,  and  the  damp  breath  of  forest 
odors  filled  the  lonely  street.  Emboldened  by  the  darkness 
other  shadows  slipped  by,  leaving  strange  footprints  in  the 
moist  ditches  for  people  to  point  at  next  day,  until  the 
moon,  round  and  full,  was  lifted  above  the  crest  of  the 
opposite  hill,  and  all  was  magically  changed. 

The  shadows  shrank  away,  leaving  the  straggling  street 
sleeping  in  a  beauty  it  never  knew  by  day.  All  that  was 
unlovely,  harsh,  and  repulsive  in  its  jagged  outlines  was 
subdued  and  softened  by  that  uncertain  light.  It  smoothed 
the  rough  furrows  and  unsightly  chasms  of  the  mountain 
with  an  ineffable  love  and  tenderness.  It  fell  upon  the 
face  of  the  sleeping  M'liss,  and  left  a  tear  glittering  on  her 
black  lashes  and  a  smile  on  her  lip,  which  would  have  been 
rare  to  her  at  any  other  time ;  and  fell  also  on  the  white 
upturned  face  of  "  Old  Smith,"  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand 
and  a  bullet  in  his  heart,  lying  dead  beside  his  empty 
pocket. 

CHAPTER  II 

WHICH    CONTAINS    A    DREAM    OF    THE    JUST    ABISTIDES 

The  opinion  which  McSnagley  expressed  in  reference 
to  a  "  change  of  heart,"  as  experienced  by  M'liss,  was 
more  forcibly  described  in  the  gulches  and  tunnels.  It 
was  thought  there  that  M'liss  had  struck  a  "  good  lead." 
And  when  there  was  a  new  grave  added  to  the  little  inclos 


244  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

ure,  and  —  at  the  expense  of  the  master  —  a  little  board 
and  inscription  put  above  it,  the  "  Red  Mountain  Banner  " 
came  out  quite  handsomely  and  did  the  correct  thing  for 
the  memory  of  one  of  "  our  oldest  pioneers/'  alluding 
gracefully  to  that  "bane  of  noble  intellects/7  touching 
slightly  on  the  "  vicissitudes  of  fortune/'  and  otherwise 
assisting  our  dear  brother  into  genteel  obscurity.  "  He 
leaves  an  only  child  to  mourn  his  loss/'  said  the  "  Banner/5 
"  who  is  now  an  exemplary  scholar,  thanks  to  the  efforts  of 
the  Rev.  J.  McSnagley."  That  reverend  gentleman,  in 
fact,  made  a  strong  point  of  M'liss's  conversion,  and,  indi 
rectly  attributing  to  her  former  bad  conduct  the  suicide  of 
her  father,  made  affecting  allusions  in  Sunday-school  to  the 
beneficial  effects  of  the  "  silent  tomb,"  and  in  that  cheer 
ful  contemplation  froze  most  of  the  children  into  speechless 
horror,  and  caused  the  f air-complexion ed  scions  of  the  first 
families  to  howl  dismally  and  refuse  to  be  comforted. 

Of  the  homes  that  were  offered  to  M'liss  when  her  con 
version  became  known,  the  master  had  preferred  that  of 
Mrs.  Morpher,  a  womanly  and  kind-hearted  specimen  of 
Southwestern  efflorescence,  known  in  her  maidenhood  as 
the  "Per-ra-rie  Rose."  By  a  steady  system  of  struggle 
and  self-sacrifice,  she  had  at  last  subjugated  her  naturally 
careless  disposition  to  principles  of  "  order/'  which  as  a 
pious  woman  she  considered,  with  Pope,  as  "  Heaven's 
first  law."  But  she  could  not  entirely  govern  the  orbits 
of  her  satellites,  however  regular  her  own  movements,  and 
her  old  nature  asserted  itself  in  her  children.  Lycurgus 
dipped  in  the  cupboard  "  between  meals,"  and  Aristide; 
came  home  from  school  without  shoes,  leaving  those  impor 
tant  articles  at  the  threshold,  for  the  delights  of  a  bare 
footed  walk  down  the  ditches.  Octavia  and  Cassandra 
were  "  keerless "  of  their  clothes.  So  that  with  but  one 
exception,  however  the  "  Prairie  Rose "  might  have 
trimmed,  pruned,  and  trained  her  own  natural  luxuriance. 


M'LISS  245 

the  little  shoots  came  up  defiantly  wild  and  straggling. 
That  one  exception  was  Clytemnestra  Morpher,  aged  fifteen. 
She  was  the  realization  of  her  mother's  most  extravagant 
dream.  I  stay  my  hand  with  difficulty  at  this  moment, 
for  I  long  to  describe  this  model  of  deportment ;  but  the 
progress  of  my  story  just  at  present  supplants  Clytemnestra 
in  the  larger  prominence  it  gives  to  another  member  of  the 
family,  — the  just  Aristides. 

The  long  dry  summer  had  come.  As  each  fierce  day 
seemed  to  burn  itself  out  in  little  whiffs  of  pearl  gray 
smoke  on  the  mountain  summits,  and  as  the  upspringing 
breeze  scattered  what  might  have  been  its  red  embers  over 
the  landscape,  the  green  wave  which,  in  early  spring,  had 
upheaved  above  Smith's  grave  grew  sere  and  dry  and  hard. 
In  those  days,  the  master,  strolling  in  the  little  churchyard 
of  a  Sabbath  afternoon,  was  sometimes  surprised  to  find  a 
few  wild  flowers,  plucked  from  the  damp  pine  forest,  scat 
tered  there,  and  oftener  rude  wreaths  hung  upon  the  little 
pine  cross.  Most  of  these  wreaths  were  formed  of  a  sweet- 
scented  grass  which  the  children  loved  to  keep  in  their 
desks,  entwined  with  the  pompon-like  plumes  of  the  buck 
eye  and  syringa,  the  wood  anemone,  and  here  and  there 
the  master  noticed  the  dark  blue  cowl  of  the  monk's-hood 
or  deadly  aconite.  One  day,  during  a  walk,  in  crossing  a 
wooded  ridge,  he  came  upon  M'liss  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest,  perched  upon  a  prostrate  pine,  on  a  fantastic  throne, 
formed  by  the  hanging  plumes  of  lifeless  branches,  her  lap 
full  of  grasses  and  pine  burrs,  and  crooning  to  the  just 
Aristides,  who  sat  humbly  at  her  feet,  one  of  the  negro 
melodies  of  her  younger  life.  It  was  perhaps  the  influence 
of  the  season,  or  the  memory  of  this  sylvan  enjoyment, 
which  caused  Aristides,  one  midsummer  day,  to  have  a 
singular  vision. 

The  just  Aristides  had  begun  that  morning  with  a  seri 
ous  error.  Loitering  on  his  way  to  school,  occasionally 


246  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

stopping  to  inspect  the  footprints  of  probable  bears,  or  in 
dulging  in  cheerful  badinage  with  the  tunnel  men,  —  to 
whom  the  apparition  of  a  short-legged  boy  weighed  down 
by  a  preternaturally  large  satchel  was  an  object  of  boister 
ous  solicitude,  —  Aristides  suddenly  found  that  he  was  an 
hour  and  a  half  too  late  for  school.  Whether  this  circum 
stance  was  purely  accidental  or  not  is  a  question  of  some 
uncertainty,  for  Aristides,  on  finding  himself  occupying 
this  criminal  position,  at  once  resolved  to  play  truant.  I 
shall  not  stop  to  inquire  by  what  system  of  logic  this 
•  result  presented  itself  to  that  just  youth  as  a  consistent 
deduction,  or  whether  some  indistinct  apprehension  of  an 
other  and  a  better  world  beyond  the  settlement,  where  there 
were  no  schools  and  blackberries  were  plenty,  had  not 
influenced  him  in  taking  this  fatal  step.  Enough  that  he 
entered  on  his  rash  career  by  instantly  eating  the  dinner 
which  he  carried  with  him,  and  having  propitiated  that 
terrible  god  whose  seat  is  every  small  boy's  stomach,  with 
a  feeling  of  inexpressible  guiltiness  creeping  over  him,  he 
turned  his  back  upon  the  schoolhouse  and  ran  into  the 
woods. 

Away  from  the  glare  of  the  red  road,  how  deliciously  cool 
was  the  damp  breath  and  twilight  dimness  of  the  stately 
pines.  How  they  seemed  to  welcome  him  in  their  deepest 
recesses,  ranging  themselves  silently  around  him  as  he  ran, 
shutting  out  the  world  and  its  schoolhouses,  and  the  pur 
suit  of  indignant  parents  and  vindictive  teachers.  How  in 
the  forest  depths  the  blue  jay  called  to  him  mockingly,  and 
the  kingbird,  spreading  his  tail  like  a  crimson  pennant, 
beckoned  him  onward.  How  there  was  recognition  and 
greeting  even  in  the  squirrel  that  scampered  past  him,  mis 
chievously  whisking  his  ridiculous  tail  within  an  inch  of 
his  outstretched  fingers.  And  how  Aristides,  at  last  flinging 
away  hat,  shoes,  and  satchel,  uttered  a  shrill  whoop  and 
dashed  forward  like  a  youthful  savage.  But  are  not  these 


M'LISS  247 

things  written  in  the  dog's-eared  pages  of  every  boy's  mem 
ory,  even  though  they  seemed  afterward  to  the  just  Aris- 
tides  a  part  and  parcel  of  his  own  strange  vision  ? 

Yet  even  such  delights  had  their  hour  of  culmination, 
and  Aristides  found  himself  at  high  noon  back  on  the  road 
again  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement,  carrying  a  ravished 
jay's  nest,  two  pine  cones,  a  dead  hare,  and  a  plume  of  the 
white  syringa.  Somewhat  overpowered  by  the  weight  of 
these  trophies,  which  he  had  collected  in  the  vague  belief 
that  they  would  be  of  future  service  to  him,  he  began  to 
look  about  for  some  convenient  place  to  bestow  his  booty. 
It  was  nearly  time  for  the  great  Wingdam  stage  to  go  by, 
and  when  it  came  at  last  with  a  sharp  rattle  of  wheels  and 
prancing  of  horses,  and  a  red  pillar  of  dust  hanging  over  it 
that  partook  of  both  the  fiery  and  cloudy  attributes  of  the 
Israelitish  sign,  Aristides  exchanged  epithets  with  the 
driver,  and,  although  standing  knee-deep  in  red  dust,  felt  a 
thrill  of  joy  in  the  recognition  which  no  future  honor  or 
dignity  might  ever  give  him. 

Retracing  his  steps,  the  truant  presently  came  to  a  semi 
circular  opening  in  the  side  of  Red  Mountain,  which 
inclosed,  like  the  walls  of  some  vast  amphitheatre,  what 
had  been  the  arena  of  the  early  struggles  of  the  gladiators 
of  fortune.  There  were  terrible  traces  of  that  struggle  still 
—  in  the  rock  blasted  by  fire  —  in  the  bank  furrowed  by 
water  —  and  in  the  debris  of  Red  Mountain  scattered 
along  the  gulch  two  miles  in  extent.  Their  forgotten 
engines  were  lying  half  buried  in  the  ditches  —  the  prime 
val  structure  which  had  served  them  for  a  banking-house 
was  roofless,  and  held  the  hoards  of  field-mice  and  squir* 
rels.  The  unshapely  stumps  of  ancient  pines  dotted  the 
ground,  and  Aristides  remembered  that  under  the  solitary 
redwood,  which  of  all  its  brothers  remained  still  standing, 
one  of  those  early  pioneers  lay  buried.  No  wonder  that, 
in  the  gentle  breeze  of  that  summer  day  swept  through  its 


248  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

brandies,  the  just  Aristides  might  have  heard,  as  part  of 
his  wonderful  dream,  some  echo  of  its  far  off  brothers  of 
Lebanon,  saying,  "  Since  thou  art  fallen,  no  feller  has 
risen  up  against  us  !  " 

But  the  short  legs  of  Aristides  were  aching,  and  he  was 
getting  thirsty.  There  was  a  rough  cavern  close  at  hand  ; 
and  as  most  of  these  openings  condensed  their  general 
dampness  somewhere  in  quiet  pools,  Aristides  turned  into 
the  first  one.  When  he  had  slaked  his  thirst,  he  looked 
around  him  and  recognized  Smith's  Pocket. 

It  had  undergone  little  change  in  the  last  two  years. 
The  winter  rains  had  detached  those  portions  of  the  wall 
which  were  not  upheld  by  decaying  timbers.  It  was  cer 
tainly  a  dirty  pocket  —  a  pocket  filled  with  rubbish  —  a 
shabby  pocket  —  a  worn-out  and  ragged  pocket.  It  was  so 
unpromising  in  its  present  exterior,  so  graphic  in  its  story 
of  misfortune,  and  so  terrible  in  its  recent  memories,  that 
the  most  sanguine  prospector  would  have  passed  it  by,  as 
though  the  hopeless  sentence  of  Dante  had  been  written 
over  its  ragged  portal. 

The  active  mind  of  Aristides,  however,  saw  in  the  lurking 
shadows  of  its  arches  much  promise  as  a  future  play-room, 
to  which  he  intended  to  induct  hereafter  his  classical  brother 
Lycurgus.  In  this  reflection  he  threw  himself  on  the 
ground,  and  luxuriously  burying  his  bare  feet  in  the  cool, 
loose  soil,  gave  himself  up  to  serene  meditation.  But  the 
heat  and  exertion  were  beginning  to  exert  a  certain  influence 
over  him,  and  once  or  twice  his  eyes  closed.  The  water 
rippled  beside  him  with  a  sleepy  sound.  The  sunlight  on 
the  hill  without  made  him  wink.  The  long-drawn  cawing 
of  a  crow  on  the  opposite  hillside,  and  the  buzzing  of  a 
bluebottle  fly  who  had  sought  retreat  in  the  cavern,  had  a 
like  effect,  and  he  felt  himself  falling  asleep.  How  long 
he  slept,  or  if  he  slept  at  all,  he  could  not  remember,  for 
he  started  suddenly,  and,  listening  a  moment,  sprang  to 
his  feet. 


M'LISS  249 

The  low,  heavy  blows  of  a  pick  came  deadened  and  muf 
fled  from  the  extremity  of  the  cavern. 

At  first  a  terrible  fear  took  possession  of  him ;  for  an 
instant  the  white,  rigid  face  of  Smith,  as  he  had  seen  it  on 
the  day  of  the  inquest,  when  an  irresistible  curiosity  led 
him  to  creep  into  the  room  where  the  dead  man  was  lying 
—  for  an  instant  only,  this  fearful  remembrance  seemed  to 
rise  before  him  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  pit.  The  terror 
passed  away. 

Ghosts  were  historically  unknown  to  Aristides,  and  even 
had  his  imaginative  faculty  been  more  prominent,  the  edu 
cation  of  Smith's  Pocket  was  not  of  a  kind  to  foster  such 
weaknesses.  Except  a  twinge  of  conscience,  a  momentary 
recollection  of  the  evil  that  comes  to  bad  boys  through  the 
severe  pages  of  Sunday-school  books  —  with  this  excep 
tion,  Aristides  was  not  long  in  recovering  his  self-possession. 
He  did  not  run  away,  for  his  curiosity  was  excited.  The 
same  instinct  which  prompted  an  examination  of  bear- 
tracks  gave  a  fascination  to  the  situation,  and  a  nervous 
energy  to  his  frame. 

The  regular  blows  of  the  pick  still  resounded  through 
the  cavern.  He  crept  cautiously  to  the  deepest  recesses  of 
the  pocket,  and  held  his  breath  and  listened.  The  sound 
seemed  to  come  from  the  bowels  of  the  mountain.  There 
was  no  sign  of  opening  or  ingress  ;  an  impenetrable  veil  of 
quartz  was  between  him  and  the  mysterious  laborer.  He 
was  creeping  back,  between  the  displaced  rafters,  when  a 
light  glanced  suddenly  in  his  face,  and  flashed  on  the  wet 
roof  above  him.  Looking  fearfully  down,  Aristides  beheld 
between  the  interstices  of  the  rafters,  which  formed  a  tem 
porary  flooring,  that  there  was  another  opening  below,  and 
in  that  opening  a  man  was  working.  In  the  queer  fantasy 
of  Aristides's  dream,  it  took  the  aspect  of  a  second  pocket 
and  a  duplicate  Smith  ! 

He  had  no  time  to   utter  his   astonishment,  for  at   that 


250  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

moment  an  ominous  rattling  of  loose  soil  upon  his  back 
made  him  look  up,  and  he  had  barely  time  to  spring  away 
before  a  greater  portion  of  the  roof  of  Smith's  Pocket, 
loosened  by  the  displacement  of  its  supports  in  his  search, 
fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  But  in  the  fall  a  long-handled 
shovel  which  had  been  hidden  somewhere  in  the  crevices  of 
the  rock  above  came  rattling  down  with  it,  and,  seizing  this 
as  a  trophy,  Aristides  emerged  from  Smith's  Pocket,  at  a 
rate  of  speed  which  seemed  singularly  disproportionate  with 
his  short  legs  and  round  stomach. 

When  he  reached  the  road  the  sun  was  setting.  Inspect 
ing  his  prize  by  that  poetic  light,  he  found  that  the  shovel 
was  a  new  one,  and  bore  neither  mark  of  use  nor  exposure. 
Shouldering  it  again,  with  the  intention  of  presenting  it  as 
a  peace-offering  to  propitiate  the  just  wrath  of  his  parents, 
A.ristides  had  gone  but  a  few  rods  when  an  unexpected  cir 
cumstance  occurred  which  dashed  his  fond  hope,  and  to  the 
conscientious  child  seemed  the  shadow  of  an  inevitable 
Nemesis.  At  the  curve  of  the  road,  as  the  settlement  of 
Smith's  Pocket  came  into  view,  with  its  straggling  street, 
and  its  church  spire  that  seemed  a  tongue  of  flame  in  the 
setting  sun,  a  broad-shouldered  figure  sprang,  apparently, 
from  out  of  the  bank,  and  stood  in  the  path  of  that  infelix 
infant. 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  that  shovel,  you  young 
devil  ?  " 

Aristides  looked  up  and  saw  that  his  interlocutor  was  a 
man  of  powerful  figure,  whose  face,  though  partially  con 
cealed  by  a  red  handkerchief,  even  in  that  uncertain  light 
was  not  prepossessing.  Children  are  quick  physiognomists, 
and  Aristides,  feeling  the  presence  of  evil,  from  the  depths 
of  his  mighty  little  soul  then  and  there  took  issue  with  the 
giant. 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  that  shovel ;  d — n  you,  do 
you  hear  ?  "  said  he  of  the  red  handkerchief  impatiently. 


M'LISS  251 

"  Home,"  said  Aristides  stoutly. 

"  Home,  eh !  "  said  the  stranger  sneeringly.  "  And 
where  did  you  steal  it,  you  young  thief  ?  " 

The  Morpher  stock  not  being  of  a  kind  to  receive  oppro 
brious  epithets  meekly,  Aristides  slowly,  and  with  an  evi 
dent  effort,  lifted  the  shovel  in  a  menacing  attitude. 

A  single  step  was  all  that  separated  six  feet  of  Strength 
from  three  feet  of  Valor.  The  stranger  eyed  Aristides  with 
an  expression  of  surly  amazement,  and  hesitated.  The  ele 
phant  quailed  before  the  gad-fly.  As  that  precocious  in 
fant  waved  the  threatening  shovel,  his  youthful  lips  slowly 
fashioned  this  tremendous  sentence  :  — 

"  You  let  me  pass  and  I  won't  hit  you  !  " 

And  here  I  must  pause.  I  would  that  for  the  sake  <jf 
poetry  I  could  leave  my  hero,  bathed  in  that  heroic  light, 
erect  and  menacing.  But  alas,  in  this  practical  world  cf 
ours,  the  battle  is  too  often  to  the  strong.  And  I  hasten 
over  the  humiliating  spectacle  of  Aristides,  spanked,  cuffed, 
and  kicked,  and  pick  him  from  the  ditch  into  which  he  was 
at  last  ignominiously  tossed,  a  defeated  but  still  struggling 
warrior,  and  so  bring  him,  as  the  night  closes  charitably 
around  him,  in  contrite  tears  and  muddy  garments  to  his 
father's  door. 

When  the  master  stopped  at  Mrs.  Morpher's  to  inquire 
after  his  errant  pupil  that  night,  he  found  Aristides  in  bed, 
smelling  strongly  of  soap  and  water,  and  sinking  into  a 
feverish  sleep.  As  he  muttered  from  time  to  time  some  in 
coherent  sentence,  tossing  restlessly  in  his  cot,  the  master 
turned  to  those  about  him  and  asked  what  it  was  he  said. 

It  was  nothing.  Aristides  had  been  dreaming,  and  that 
was  his  dream. 

That  was  all.  Yet  a  dream  that  foreshadowed  a  slow- 
coming  but  unerring  justice,  that  should  give  the  little 
dreamer  in  after  years  some  credit  to  the  title  of  Aristides 
the  Just. 


&>2  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

CHAPTER  III 

UNDER    THE    GREENWOOD    TREE 

It  was  an  amiable  weakness  of  Mrs.  Morpher  to  imagine 
chat,  of  all  her  classical  progeny,  Clytemnestra  was  particu 
larly  the  model  for  M'liss.  Following  this  fallacy  she 
threw  "  Clytie  "  at  the  head  of  M'liss  when  she  was  "  bad," 
and  set  her  up  before  the  child  for  adoration  in  her  peni 
tential  moments.  It  was  not  therefore  surprising  to  the 
master  to  hear  that  Clytie  was  coming  to  school,  obviously 
as  a  favor  to  the  master  and  as  an  example  for  M'liss  and 
others.  For  Clytie  was  quite  a  young  lady.  Inheriting 
her  mother's  physical  peculiarities,  and  in  obedience  to  the 
climatic  laws  of  the  Red  Mountain  region,  she  was  an  early 
bloomer.  The  youth  of  Smith's  Pocket,  to  whom  this  kind 
of  flower  was  rare,  sighed  for  her  in  April  and  languished 
in  May.  Enamored  swains  haunted  the  schoolhouse  at 
the  hour  of  dismissal.  A  few  were  jealous  of  the  master. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  latter  circumstance  that  opened  the 
master's  eyes  to  another.  He  could  not  help  noticing  that 
Clytie  was  romantic ;  that  in  school  she  required  a  great 
deal  of  attention ;  that  her  pens  were  uniformly  bad  and 
wanted  fixing ;  that  she  usually  accompanied  the  request 
with  a  certain  expectation  in  her  eye  that  was  somewhat 
disproportionate  to  the  quality  of  service  she  verbally  re 
quired  ;  that  she  sometimes  allowed  the  curves  of  a  round 
plump  white  arm  to  rest  on  his  when  he  was  writing  her 
copies ;  that  she  always  blushed  and  flung  back  her  blond 
curls  when  she  did  so.  I  don't  remember  whether  I  have 
stated  that  the  master  was  a  young  man  —  it 's  of  little  con 
sequence,  however.  He  had  been  severely  educated  in 
the  school  in  which  Clytie  was  taking  her  first  lesson,  and 
on  the  whole  withstood  the  flexible  curves  and  facetious 


M'LISS  253 

glance  like  the  fine  young  Spartan  that  he  was.  Perhaps 
an  insufficient  quality  of  food  may  have  tended  to  this  ascet 
icism.  He  generally  avoided  Clytie ;  but  one  evening 
when  she  returned  to  the  schoolhouse  after  something  she 
had  forgotten,  —  and  did  not  find  it  until  the  master  walked 
home  with  her,  —  I  hear  that  he  endeavored  to  make  him 
self  particularly  agreeable,  partly  from  the  fact,  I  imagine, 
that  his  conduct  was  adding  gall  and  bitterness  to  the 
already  overcharged  hearts  of  Clytemnestra's  admirers. 

The  morning  after  this  affecting  episode,  M'liss  did  not 
come  to  school.  Noon  came,  but  not  M'liss.  Questioning 
Clytie  on  the  subject,  it  appeared  that  they  had  left  for 
school  together,  but  the  willful  M'liss  had  taken  another 
road.  The  afternoon  brought  her  not.  In  the  evening  he 
called  on  Mrs.  Morpher,  whose  motherly  heart  was  really 
alarmed.  Mr.  Morpher  had  spent  all  day  in  search  of  her, 
without  discovering  a  trace  that  might  lead  to  her  discovery. 
Aristides  was  summoned  as  a  probable  accomplice,  but  that 
equitable  infant  succeeding  in  impressing  the  household  with 
his  innocence,  Mrs.  Morpher  entertained  a  vivid  impression 
that  the  child  would  yet  be  found  drowned  in  a  ditch,  or  — 
what  was  almost  as  terrible  —  mud-dyed  and  soiled  beyond 
1  he  redemption  of  soap  and  water.  Sick  at  heart,  the  master 
returned  to  the  schoolhouse.  As  he  lit  his  lamp  and  seated 
himself  at  his  desk,  he  found  a  note  lying  before  him, 
tddressed  to  himself  in  M'liss's  handwriting.  It  seemed  to 
be  written  on  a  leaf  torn  from  some  old  memorandum-book, 
and,  to  prevent  sacrilegious  trifling,  had  been  sealed  with  six 
broken  wafers.  Opening  it  almost  tenderly,  the  master  read 
LS  follows :  — 

RESPECTED  SIR  :  When  you  read  this,  I  am  run  away. 
iX"ever  to  come  back.  Never  NEVER  NEVER.  You  can 
give  my  beeds  to  Mary  Jennings,  and  my  Amerika's  Pride 
'  a  highly  colored  lithograph  from  a  tobacco  box]  to 


254  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

Flanders.  But  don't  you  give  anything  to  Clytie  Morper. 
Don't  you  dair  to.  Do  you  know  what  my  opinnion  is  of 
her,  it  is  this,  she  is  perfekly  disgustin.  That  is  all  and  no 
more  at  present  from 

MELISSA  SMITH. 

The  master  mused  for  some  time  over  this  characteristic 
epistle.  As  he  was  mechanically  refolding  it  his  eye  caught 
a  sentence  written  on  the  back  in  pencil,  in  another  hand 
writing,  somewhat  blurred  and  indistinct  from  the  heavy 
incisive  strokes  of  M'liss's  pen  on  the  other  side.  It 
seemed  to  be  a  memorandum  belonging  to  the  book  from 
which  the  leaf  was  originally  torn :  — 

July  17th.  5  hours  in  drift  —  dipping  west  —  took  out 
20  oz.  ;  cleaned  up  40  oz.  Mem.  —  saw  M.  S. 

"  July  17th,"  said  the  master,  opening  his  desk  and 
taking  out  a  file  of  the  "  Bed  Mountain  Banner."  tl  July 
17th,"  he  repeated,  running  over  the  pages  till  he  came  to  a 
paragraph  headed  "  DISTRESSING  SUICIDE."  "  July  17th 

—  why,    that's    the    day    Smith    killed    himself.     That's 
funny  !  " 

In  a  strict  etymological  sense  there  was  nothing  so  very 
ludicrous  in  this  coincidence,  nor  did  the  master's  face  betray 
any  expression  of  the  kind.  Perhaps  the  epithet  was  chosen 
to  conceal  the  vague  uneasiness  which  it  produced  in  his 
mind.  We  are  all  of  us  more  affected  by  these  coincidences 
than  we  care  to  confess  to  one  another.  If  the  most 
matter-of-fact  reader  of  these  pages  were  to  find  a  hearse 
standing  in  front  of  his  door  for  three  consecutive  mornings, 
although  the  circumstance  might  be  satisfactorily  explained, 

—  shall   I   go   further   and   say,  because   the  circumstance 
might  be  satisfactorily  explained,  —  he  would  vaguely  wish 
jit  hadn't  happened.     Philosophize  as  we  may,  the  simple 


M'LISS  255 

fact  of  two  remote  lines  crossing  each  other  always  seems 
to  us  of  tremendous  significance,  and  quite  overshadows  the 
moro  important  truth  that  the  real  parallels  of  life's  journey 
are  the  lines  that  never  meet.  It  will  do  us  good  to 
remember  these  things,  and  look  more  kindly  on  our 
brothers  of  Borrioboola-Gha  and  their  fetich  superstitions, 
when  we  drop  our  silver  in  the  missionary  box  next  Sabbath. 

"  I  wonder  where  that  memorandum  came  from, "  said 
the  master,  as  he  rose  at  last  and  buttoned  up  his  coat. 
Who  is  '  M.  S. '  ?  M.  S.  stands  for  manuscript  and 
Melissa  Smith.  Why  don't  "  —  But  checking  an  impul 
sive  query  as  to  why  people  don't  make  their  private  mem 
oranda  generally  intelligible,  the  master  put  the  letter  in 
his  pocket  and  went  home. 

At  sunrise  the  next  morning  he  was  picking  his  way 
through  the  palm-like  fern  and  thick  underbrush  of  the 
pine  forest,  starting  the  hare  from  its  form,  and  awakening 
a  querulous  protest  from  a  few  dissipated  crows,  who  had 
evidently  been  making  a  night  of  it,  and  so  came  to  the 
wooded  ridge  where  he  had  once  found  M'liss.  There  he 
found  the  prostrate  pine  and  tessellated  branches,  but  the 
throne  was  vacant.  As  he  drew  nearer,  what  might  have 
been  some  frightened  animal  started  through  the  crackling 
limbs.  It  ran  up  the  tossed  arms  of  the  fallen  monarch, 
and  sheltered  itself  in  some  friendly  foliage.  The  master, 
reaching  the  old  seat,  found  the  nest  still  warm  ;  looking 
up  in  the  intertwining  branches,  he  met  the  black  eyes  of 
the  errant  M'liss.  They  gazed  at  each  other  without  speak 
ing.  She  was  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked  curtly. 

The  master  had  decided  on  a  course  of  action.  "  I  want 
some  crab  apples/'  he  said  humbly. 

"  Shan't  have  'em !  go  away  !  Why  don't  you  get  'em 
of  Clytemnerestera  ?  "  It  seemed  to  be  a  relief  to  M'liss  to 
express  her  contempt  in  additional  syllables  to  that  classi- 


256  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

cal  young  woman's  already  long-drawn  title.  "  Oh,  you 
wicked  thing  ! " 

"  I  am  hungry,  Lissy.  I  have  eaten  nothing  since  din 
ner  yesterday.  I  am  famished  !  "  and  the  young  man,  in 
a  state  of  remarkable  exhaustion,  leaned  against  the  tree. 

Melissa's  heart  was  touched.  In  the  bitter  days  of  her 
gypsy  life  she  had  known  the  sensation  he  so  artfully  sim 
ulated.  Overcome  by  his  heartbroken  tone,  but  not  en 
tirely  divested  of  suspicion,  she  said  :  — 

"Dig  under  the  tree  near  the  roots,  and  you  '11  find  lots : 
but  mind  you  don't  tell,"  for  M'liss  had  her  hoards  as  well 
as  the  rats  and  squirrels. 

But  the  master  of  course  was  unable  to  find  them,  the 
effects  of  hunger  probably  blinding  his  senses.  M'liss 
grew  uneasy.  At  length  she  peered  at  him  through  the 
leaves  in  an  elfish  way,  and  questioned  :  — 

"  If  I  come  down  and  give  you  some,  you  '11  promise 
you  won't  touch  me  ?  " 

The  master  promised. 

"  Hope  you  '11  die  if  you  do  ?  " 

The  master  accepted  instant  dissolution  as  a  forfeit. 
M'liss  slid  down  the  tree.  The  duties  of  hospitality  ful 
filled,  she  seated  herself  at  a  little  distance  and  eyed  the 
master  with  extreme  caution. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  eat  your  breakfast,  you  bad  man  ?  " 

"  Because  I  've  run  away." 

"  Where  to  ?  "  said  M'liss,  her  eyes  twinkling. 

"  Anywhere  —  anywhere,  away  from  here  !  "  responded 
that  deceitful  wretch  with  tragic  wildness  of  demeanor. 

"  What  made  you  ?  —  bad  boy  !  "  said  M'liss,  with  a 
sudden  respect  of  conventionalities,  and  a  rare  touch  of 
tenderness  in  her  tones.  "  You  'd  better  go  back  where 
your  vittals  are." 

"  What  are  victuals  to  a  wounded  spirit  ?  "  asked  the 
young  man  dramatically.  He  had  reached  the  side  of 


M'LISS  257 

M'liss  during  this  dialogue,  and  had  taken  her  unresisting 
hand.  He  was  too  wise  to  notice  his  victory,  however ; 
and  drawing  Melissa's  note  from  his  pocket,  opened  it 
before  her. 

"  Could  n't  you  find  any  paper  in  the  schoolhouse  with 
out  tearing  a  leaf  out  of  my  memorandum  book,  Melissa  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  It  ain't  out  of  your  memorandum  book,"  responded 
M'liss  fiercely. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  master,  turning  to  the  lines  in  pencil ; 
"  I  thought  it  was  my  handwriting." 

M'liss,  who  had  been  looking  over  his  shoulder,  suddenly 
seized  the  paper  and  snatched  it  out  of  his  hand. 

"  It  's  father's  writing !  "  she  said,  after  a  pause,  in  a 
softer  tone. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  M'liss  ?  " 

"  Aristides  gave  it  to  me." 

"  Where  did  he  get  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.  He  had  the  book  in  his  pocket  when  I 
told  him  I  was  going  to  write  to  you,  and  he  tore  the  leaf 
out.  There  now  —  don't  bother  me  any  more."  M'liss 
had  turned  her  face  away,  and  the  black  hair  had  hid  her 
downcast  eyes. 

Something  in  her  gesture  and  expression  reminded  him 
of  her  father.  Something,  and  more  that  was  characteris 
tic  to  her  at  such  moments,  made  him  fancy  another  resem 
blance,  and  caused  him  to  ask  impulsively,  and  less 
cautiously  than  was  his  wont :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  your  mother,  M'liss  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Did  you  never  see  her  ?  " 

«  Xo  —  did  n't  I  tell  you  not  to  bother,  and  you  ;re 
a-goin'  and  doin'  it,"  said  M'liss  savagely. 

The  master  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Did  you  ever  think 
you  would  like  to  have  a  mother,  M'liss  ?  "  he  asked 
again. 


258  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

"  ^To-0-0-0  !  " 

The  master  rose  ;  M'liss  looked  up. 

"  Does  Aristides  come  to  school  to-day  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Are  you  going  back  ?     You  'd  better,"  she  said. 

"  Well !  —  perhaps  I  may.      Good- by  !  " 

He  had  proceeded  a  few  steps  when,  as  he  expected,  she 
called  him  back.  He  turned.  She  was  standing  by  the 
tree,  with  tears  glistening  in  her  eyes.  The  master  felt 
the  right  moment  had  come.  Going  up  to  her,  he  took 
both  her  hands  in  his,  and  looking  in  her  tearful  eyes,  said 
gravely  :  — 

"  M'liss,  do  you  remember  the  first  evening  you  came  to 
see  me  ?  " 

M'liss  remembered. 

"  You  asked  me  if  you  might  come  to  school,  and  I 
said  —  " 

"  Come  !  "  responded  the  child  softly. 

"  If  I  told  you  I  was  lonely  without  my  little  scholar, 
and  that  I  wanted  her  to  come,  what  would  you  say  ?  " 

The  child  hung  her  head  in  silence.  The  master  waited 
patiently.  Tempted  by  the  quiet,  a  hare  ran  close  to  the 
couple,  and  raising  her  bright  eyes  and  velvet  fore  paws, 
gazed  at  them  fearlessly.  A  squirrel  ran  halfway  down 
the  furrowed  bark  of  the  fallen  tree,  and  there  stopped. 

"  We  are  waiting,  Lissy,"  said  the  master  in  a  whisper, 
and  the  child  smiled.  Stirred  by  a  passing  breeze,  the  tree- 
tops  rocked,  and  a  slanting  sunbeam  stole  through  their 
interlaced  boughs  and  fell  on  the  doubting  face  and  irreso 
lute  little  figure.  But  a  step  in  the  dry  branches  and  a 
rustling  in  the  underbrush  broke  the  spell. 

A  man  dressed  as  a  miner,  carrying  a  long-handled 
shovel,  came  slowly  through  the  woods.  A  red  handker 
chief  tied  around  his  head  under  his  hat,  with  the  loose 
«nds  hanging  from  beneath,  did  not  add  much  favor  to  his 


M'LISS  259 

unprepossessing  face.  He  did  not  perceive  the  master  and 
M'liss  until  he  was  close  upon  them.  When  he  did,  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  gazed  at  them  with  an  expression  of 
lowering  distrust.  M'liss  drew  nearer  to  the  master. 

"  Good-mornin'  —  picknickin',  eh  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an 
attempt  at  geniality  that  was  more  repulsive  than  his 
natural  manner. 

"  How  are  you  —  prospecting,  eh  ?  "  said  the  master 
quietly,  after  the  established  colloquial  formula  of  Red 
Mountain. 

«  Yes  —  a  little  in  that  way." 

The  stranger  still  hesitated,  apparently  waiting  for  them 
to  go  first,  a  matter  which  M'liss  decided  by  suddenly  taking 
the  master's  hand  in  her  quick  way.  What  she  said  was 
scarcely  audible,  but  the  master,  parting  her  hair  over  her 
forehead,  kissed  her,  and  so,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed 
out  of  the  damp  aisles  and  forest  odors  into  the  open  sun 
lit  road.  But  M'liss,  looking  back,  saw  that  her  old  seat 
was  occupied  by  the  hopeful  prospector,  and  fancied  that  in 
the  shadows  of  her  former  throne  something  of  a  gratified 
leer  overspread  his  face.  "  He  '11  have  to  dig  deep  to  find 
the  crab  apples,"  said  the  child  to  the  master,  as  they 
came  to  the  Red  Mountain  road. 

When  Aristides  came  to  school  that  day  he  was  con 
fronted  by  M'liss.  But  neither  threats  nor  entreaties  could 
extract  from  that  reticent  youth  the  whereabout  of  the 
memorandum  book  nor  where  he  got  it.  Two  or  three 
days  afterward,  during  recess,  he  approached  M'liss,  and 
beckoned  her  one  side. 

"  Well,"  said  M'liss  impatiently. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  the  story  of  l  Ali  Baba '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"No." 

"  Well,"  said  that  sage  infant,  wheeling  around  on  his 
stout  legs,  "  it  >s  true  !  " 


260  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

CHAPTER  IV 

WHICH     HAS     A     GOOD     MORAL     TENDENCY 

Somewhat  less  spiteful  in  her  intercourse  with  the  other 
scholars,  M'liss  still  retained  an  offensive  attitude  toward 
Clytemnestra.  Perhaps  the  jealous  element  was  not  entirely 
stilled  in  her  passionate  little  breast.  Perhaps  it  was  that 
Clytemnestra's  round  curves  and  plump  outlines  afforded 
an  extensive  pinching  surface.  But  while  these  ebullitions 
were  under  the  master's  control,  her  enmity  occasionally 
took  a  new  and  irresponsible  form. 

In  his  first  estimate  of  the  child's  character  he  could  not 
conceive  that  she  had  ever  possessed  a  doll.  But  the  mas 
ter,  like  many  other  professed  readers  of  character,  was 
safer  in  a  posteriori  than  a  priori  reasoning,  for  M'liss  had 
a  doll.  But  then  it  was  a  peculiar  doll,  —  a  frightful  per 
version  of  wax  and  sawdust,  —  a  doll  fearfully  and  wonder 
fully  made,  —  a  smaller  edition  of  M'liss.  Its  unhappy 
existence  had  been  a  secret  discovered  accidentally  by  Mrs. 
Morpher.  It  had  been  the  oldtime  companion  of  M'liss's 
wanderings,  and  bore  evident  marks  of  suffering.  Its 
original  complexion  was  long  since  washed  away  by  the 
weather,  and  anointed  by  the  slime  of  ditches.  It  looked 
very  much  as  M'liss  had  in  days  past.  Its  one  gown  of 
faded  stuff  was  dirty  and  ragged  as  hers  had  been.  M'liss 
had  never  been  known  to  apply  to  it  any  childish  term  of 
endearment.  She  never  exhibited  it  in  the  presence  of  other 
children.  It  was  put  severely  to  bed  in  a  hollow  tree  near 
the  schoolhouse,  and  only  allowed  exercise  during  M'liss's 
rambles.  Fulfilling  a  stern  duty  to  her  doll  —  as  she 
would  to  herself  —  it  knew  no  luxuries. 

Now,  Mrs.  Morpher,  obeying  a  commendable  impulse, 
bought  another  doll  and  gave  it  to  M'liss.  The  child  re- 


M'LISS  261 

ceived  it  gravely  and  curiously.  The  master,  on  looking  at 
it  one  day,  fancied  he  saw  a  slight  resemblance  in  its  round 
red  cheeks  and  mild  blue  eyes  to  Clytemnestra.  It  became 
evident  before  long  that  M'liss  had  also  noticed  the  same 
resemblance.  Accordingly  she  hammered  its  waxen  head 
on  the  rocks  when  she  was  alone,  and  sometimes  dragged  it 
with  a  string  round  its  neck  to  and  from  school.  At  other 
times,  setting  it  up  on  her  desk,  she  made  a  pincushion  of 
its  patient  and  inoffensive  body.  Whether  this  was  done 
in  revenge  of  what  she  considered  a  second  figurative  obtru 
sion  of  Clytie's  excellencies  upon  her ;  or  whether  she  had 
an  intuitive  appreciation  of  the  rites  of  certain  other  hea 
thens,  and  indulging  in  that  " fetich"  ceremony  imagined 
that  the  original  of  her  wax  model  would  pine  away  and 
finally  die,  is  a  metaphysical  question  I  shall  not  now  con 
sider. 

In  spite  of  these  moral  vagaries,  the  master  could  not 
help  noticing  in  her  different  tasks  the  workings  of  a  quick, 
restless,  and  vigorous  perception.  She  knew  neither  the 
hesitancy  nor  the  doubts  of  childhood.  Her  answers  in 
class  were  always  slightly  dashed  with  audacity.  Of  course 
she  was  not  infallible.  But  her  courage  and  daring  in 
venturing  beyond  her  own  depth  and  that  of  the  flounder 
ing  little  swimmers  around  her,  in  their  minds  outweighed 
all  errors  of  judgment.  Children  are  no  better  than  grown 
people  in  this  respect,  I  fancy ;  and  whenever  the  little 
red  hand  flashed  above  her  desk,  there  was  a  wondering 
silence,  and  even  the  master  was  sometimes  oppressed  with 
a  doubt  of  his  own  experience  and  judgment. 

Nevertheless,  certain  attributes  which  at  first  amused 
and  entertained  his  fancy  began  to  affect  him  with  grave 
doubts.  He  could  not  but  see  that  M'liss  was  revenge 
ful,  irreverent,  and  willful.  But  there  was  one  better 
quality  which  pertained  to  her  semi-savage  disposition  — 
the  faculty  of  physical  fortitude  and  self-sacrifice,  and 


262  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

another  —  though  not  always  an  attribute  of  the  noble 
savage  —  truth.  M'liss  was  both  fearless  and  sincere  — 
perhaps  in  such  a  character  the  adjectives  were  synony 
mous. 

The  master  had  been  doing  some  hard  thinking  on  this 
subject,  and  had  arrived  at  that  conclusion  quite  common 
to  all  who  think  sincerely,  that  he  was  generally  the  slave 
of  his  own  prejudices,  when  he  determined  to  call  on  the 
Rev.  Mr.  McSnagley  for  advice.  This  decision  was  some 
what  humiliating  to  his  pride,  as  he  and  McSnagley  were 
not  friends.  But  he  thought  of  M'liss,  and  the  evening 
of  their  first  meeting ;  and  perhaps  with  a  pardonable 
superstition  that  it  was  not  chance  alone  that  had  guided 
her  willful  feet  to  the  schoolhouse,  and  perhaps  with  a  com 
placent  consciousness  of  the  rare  magnanimity  of  the  act, 
he  choked  back  his  dislike  and  went  to  McSnagley. 

The  reverend  gentleman  was  glad  to  see  him.  More 
over,  he  observed  that  the  master  was  looking  "  peartish  " 
and  hoped  he  had  got  over  the  "  neuralgy  "  and  "  rheuma- 
tiz."  He  himself  had  been  troubled  with  a  dumb  "  ager  " 
since  last  conference.  But  he  had  learned  to  "  rastle  and 
pray." 

Pausing  a  moment  to  enable  the  master  to  write  this  cer 
tain  method  of  curing  the  dumb  "  ager "  upon  the  book 
and  volume  of  his  brain,  Mr.  McSnagley  proceeded  to  in 
quire  after  Sister  Morpher.  "  She  is  an  adornment  to 
Christianity,  and  has  a  likely,  growin'  young  family," 
added  Mr.  McSnagley  ;  "  and  there 's  that  mannerly  young 
gal  —  so  well  behaved — Miss  Clytie."  In  fact,  Clytie's 
perfections  seemed  to  affect  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
dwelt  for  several  minutes  upon  them.  The  master  was 
doubly  embarrassed.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  an  en 
forced  contrast  with  poor  M'liss  in  all  this  praise  of  Clytie. 
Secondly,  there  was  something  unpleasantly  confidential 
an  his  tone  of  speaking  of  Morpher's  earliest  born.  So  that 


M'LISS  263 

the  master,  after  a  few  futile  efforts  to  say  something  natu 
ral,  found  it  convenient  to  recall  another  engagement  and 
left  without  asking  the  information  required,  but  in  his 
after  reflections  somewhat  unjustly  giving  the  Rev.  Mr. 
McSnagley  the  full  benefit  of  having  refused  it. 

But  the  master  obtained  the  advice  in  another  and  unex 
pected  direction. 

The  resident  physician  of  Smith's  Pocket  was  a  Dr. 
Duchesne,  or  as  he  was  better  known  to  the  locality,  "  Dr. 
Doochesny."  Of  a  naturally  refined  nature  and  liberal 
education,  he  had  steadily  resisted  the  aggressions  and  temp 
tations  of  Smith's  Pocket,  and  represented  to  the  master  a 
kind  of  connecting  link  between  his  present  life  and  the 
past.  So  that  an  intimacy  sprang  up  between  the  two  men, 
involving  prolonged  interviews  in  the  doctor's  little  back 
shop,  often  to  the  exclusion  of  other  suffering  humanity  and 
their  physical  ailments.  It  was  in  one  of  these  interviews 
that  the  master  mentioned  the  coincidence  of  the  date  of 
the  memoranda  on  the  back  of  M'liss's  letter  and  the  day  of 
Smith's  suicide. 

"  If  it  were  Smith's  own  handwriting,  as  the  child  says 
it  is,"  said  the  master,  "  it  shows  a  queer  state  of  mind 
that  could  contemplate  suicide  and  indite  private  memo 
randa  within  the  same  twenty-four  hours." 

Dr.  Duchesne  removed  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and  looked 
attentively  at  his  friend. 

"  The  only  hypothesis,"  continued  the  master,  "  is  that 
Smith  was  either  drunk  or  crazy,  and  the  fatal  act  was  in  a 
measure  unpremeditated." 

"  Every  man  who  commits  suicide,"  returned  the  doctor 
gravely,  "  is  in  my  opinion  insane,  or,  what  is  nearly  the 
same  thing,  becomes  through  suffering  an  irresponsible 
agent.  In  my  professional  experience  I  have  seen  most  of 
the  forms  of  mental  and  physical  agony,  and  know  what 
sacrifices  men  will  make  to  preserve  even  an  existence  that 


264  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

to  me  seemed  little  better  than  death,  so  Jong  as  their  intel 
lect  remained  unclouded.  When  you  come  to  reflect  on 
the  state  of  mind  that  chooses  death  as  a  preferable  alter 
native,  you  generally  find  an  exaltation  and  enthusiasm 
that  differs  very  little  from  the  ordinary  diagnosis  of  de 
lirium.  Smith  was  not  drunk,"  added  the  doctor  in  his 
usual  careless  tone  ;  "  I  saw  his  body." 

The  master  remained  buried  in  reflection.  Presently  the 
doctor  removed  his  cigar. 

"  Perhaps  I  might  help  you  to  explain  the  coincidence 
you  speak  of." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Very  easily.  But  this  is  a  professional  secret,  you 
understand." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  the  master  hastily,  with  an  ill- 
defined  uneasiness  creeping  over  him. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  phenomena  of  death  by 
gunshot  wounds  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Then  you  must  take  certain  facts  as  granted.  Smith, 
you  remember,  was  killed  instantly  !  The  nature  of  his 
wound  and  the  manner  of  his  death  were  such  as  would 
have  caused  an  instantaneous  and  complete  relaxation  of  all 
the  muscles.  Rigidity  and  contraction  would  have  super 
vened  of  course,  but  only  after  life  was  extinct  and  con 
sciousness  fled.  Now  Smith  was  found  with  his  hand 
tightly  grasping  a  pistol." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,  he  must  have  grasped  it  after  he 
was  dead,  or  have  prevailed  on  some  friend  to  stiffen  his 
fingers  round  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  was  murdered  ?  " 

Dr.  Duchesne  rose  and  closed  the  door.  "We  have 
different  names  for  these  things  in  Smith's  Pocket.  I  mean 
to  say  that  he  did  n't  kill  himself  —  that 's  all." 


M'LISS  265 

"  But,  doctor,'7  said  the  master  earnestly ;  "  do  you 
think  you  have  done  right  in  concealing  this  fact  ?  Do 
you  think  it  just  —  do  you  think  it  consistent  with  your 
duty  to  his  orphan  child  ?  " 

"  That's  why  I  have  said  nothing  about  it,"  replied  the 
doctor  coolly,  —  "  because  of  my  consideration  for  his  orphan 
child." 

The  master  breathed  quickly,  and  stared  at  the  doctor. 

"  Doctor  !   you  don't  think  that  M'liss  "  — 

"  Hush  !  —  don't  get  excited,  my  young  friend.  Remem 
ber  I  am  not  a  lawyer  —  only  a  doctor." 

"  But  M'liss  was  with  me  the  very  night  he  must  have 
been  killed.  We  were  walking  together  when  we  heard  the 
report  —  that  is  —  a  report  —  which  must  have  been  the 
one  "  —  stammered  the  master. 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  At  half  past  eleven.    I  remember  looking  at  my  watch." 

"  Humph  !  —  when  did  you  meet  her  first  ?  " 

"At  half  past  eight.  Come,  doctor,  you  have  made  a 
mistake  here  at  least,"  said  the  young  man  with  an  assump 
tion  of  ease  he  was  far  from  feeling.  "  Give  M'liss  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt." 

Dr.  Duchesne  replied  by  opening  a  drawer  of  his  desk. 
After  rummaging  among  the  powders  and  mysterious  looking 
instruments  with  which  it  was  stored,  he  finally  brought 
forth  a  longitudinal  slip  of  folded  white  paper.  It  was 
appropriately  labeled  "Poison" 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  doctor,  opening  the  paper.  It 
contained  two  or  three  black  coarse  hairs.  "  Do  you  knov- 
them  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Look  again  !  " 

"  It  looks  something  like  Melissa's  hair,"  said  the  master, 
with  a  fathomless  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"When  I  was  called  to  look  at  the  body,"  continued  the 


266  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

doctor  with  the  deliberate  cautiousness  of  a  professional 
diagnosis,  "  my  suspicions  were  aroused  by  the  circumstance 
I  told  you  of.  I  managed  to  get  possession  of  the  pistol, 
and  found  these  hairs  twisted  around  the  lock  as  though 
they  had  been  accidentally  caught  and  violently  disentangled. 
I  don't  think  that  any  one  else  saw  them.  I  removed  them 
without  observation,  and  —  they  are  at  your  service.'7 

The  master  sank  back  in  his  seat  and  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  forehead.  The  image  of  M'liss  rose  before  him  with 
flashing  eye  and  long  black  hair,  and  seemed  to  beat  down 
and  resist  defiantly  the  suspicion  that  crept  slowly  over  his 
heart. 

"  I  forbore  to  tell  you  this,  my  friend,"  continued  the 
doctor  slowly  and  gravely,  "  because  when  I  learned  that 
you  had  taken  this  strange  child  under  your  protection  I  did 
not  wish  to  tell  you  that  which  —  though  I  contend  does 
not  alter  her  claims  to  man's  sympathy  and  kindness  —  still 
might  have  prejudiced  her  in  your  eyes.  Her  improvement 
under  your  care  has  proven  my  position  correct.  I  have, 
as  you  know,  peculiar  ideas  of  the  extent  to  which  human 
ity  is  responsible.  I  find  in  my  heart  —  looking  back  over 
that  child's  career  —  no  sentiment  but  pity.  I  am  mis 
taken  in  you  if  I  thought  this  circumstance  aroused  any 
other  feeling  in  yours." 

Still  the  figure  of  M'liss  stood  before  the  master  as  he 
bent  before  the  doctor's  words,  in  the  same  defiant  attitude, 
with  something  of  scorn  in  the  great  dark  eyes,  that  made 
the  blood  tingle  in  his  cheeks,  and  seemed  to  make  the 
reasoning  of  the  speaker  but  meaningless  and  empty  words. 
At  length  he  rose.  As  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  latch 
he  turned  to  Dr.  Duchesne,  who  was  watching  him  with 
careful  solicitude. 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  you  have  done  well  to  keep  this 
from  me.  At  all  events  it  has  not  —  cannot,  and  should  not 
alter  my  opinion  toward  M'liss.  You  will  of  course  keep  it 


M'LISS  267 

«\  secret.  In  the  mean  time  you  must  not  blame  me  if  I 
cling  to  my  instincts  in  preference  to  your  judgment.  I 
still  believe  that  you  are  mistaken  in  regard  to  her." 

"  Stay,  one  moment,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  promise  me  you 
will  not  say  anything  of  this,  nor  attempt  to  prosecute  the 
matter  further  till  you  have  consulted  with  me." 

"  I  promise.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night ;  "  and  so  they  parted. 

True  to  that  promise  and  his  own  instinctive  promptings 
the  master  endeavored  to  atone  for  his  momentary  disloyalty 
by  greater  solicitude  for  M'liss.  But  the  child  had  noticed 
some  change  in  the  master's  thoughtful  manner,  and  in  one 
of  their  long  post-prandial  walks  she  stopped  suddenly,  and 
mounting  a  stump,  looked  full  in  his  face  with  big  search 
ing  eyes. 

"  You  ain't  mad  ? "  said  she,  with  an  interrogative 
shake  of  the  black  braids. 

"No." 

"Nor  bothered?" 

"  No." 

"  Nor  hungry  ?  "  (Hunger  was  to  M'liss  a  sickness  that 
might  attack  a  person  at  any  moment.) 

"  No." 

"Nor  thinking  of  her?" 

"  Of  whom,  Lissy  ?  " 

"That  white  girl."  (This  was  the  latest  epithet 
invented  by  M'liss,  who  was  a  very  dark  brunette,  to 
express  Clytemnestra.) 

"No." 

"  Upon  your  word  ?  "  (A  substitute  for  "  Hope  you  '11 
die !  "  proposed  by  the  master.) 

"Yes." 

"  And  sacred  honor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Then  M'liss  gave  him  a  fierce  little  kiss,  and  hopping 


268  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

down,  fluttered  off.  For  two  or  three  days  after  that  she 
condescended  to  appear  like  other  children  and  be,  as  she 
expressed  it,  "  good." 

When  the  summer  was  about  spent,  and  the  last  harvest 
had  been  gathered  in  the  valleys,  the  master  bethought  him 
of  gathering  in  a  few  ripened  shoots  of  the  young  idea,  and 
of  having  his  Harvest  Home,  or  Examination.  So  the 
savans  and  professionals  of  Smith's  Pocket  were  gathered 
to  witness  that  time-honored  custom  of  placing  timid  chil 
dren  in  a  constrained  position,  and  bullying  them  as  in  a 
witness-box.  As  usual  in  such  cases,  the  most  audacious 
and  self-possessed  were  the  lucky  recipients  of  the  honors. 
The  reader  will  imagine  that  in  the  present  instance  M'liss 
and  Clytie  were  preeminent  and  divided  public  attention  : 
M'liss  with  her  clearness  of  material  perception  and  self- 
reliance,  and  Clytie  with  her  placid  self-esteem  and  saint 
like  correctness  of  deportment.  The  other  little  ones  were 
timid  and  blundering.  M'liss's  readiness  and  brilliancy,  of 
course,  captivated  the  greatest  number,  and  provoked  the 
greatest  applause,  and  M'liss's  antecedents  had  unconsciously 
awakened  the  strongest  sympathies  of  the  miners,  whose 
athletic  forms  were  ranged  against  the  walls,  or  whose  hand 
some  bearded  faces  looked  in  at  the  window.  But  M'liss's 
popularity  was  overthrown  by  an  unexpected  circumstance. 

McSnagley  had  invited  himself,  and  had  been  going 
through  the  pleasing  entertainment  of  frightening  the  more 
timid  pupils  by  the  vaguest  and  most  ambiguous  questions, 
delivered  in  an  impressive,  funereal  tone ;  and  M'liss  had 
soared  into  astronomy,  and  was  tracking  the  course  of  our 
"  spotted  ball  "  through  space,  and  denning  the  "  tethered 
orbits  "  of  the  planets,  when  McSnagley  deliberately  arose. 

ff  Meelissy,  ye  were  speaking  of  the  revolutions  of  this 
yer  y earth,  and  its  movements  with  regard  to  the  sun,  and 
I  think  you  said  it  had  been  a-doin'  of  it  since  the  creation, 
eh?" 


M'LISS  269 

M'liss  nodded  a  scornful  affirmative. 

"  Well,  was  that  the  truth  ?  "  said  McSnagley,  folding 
his  arms. 

"  Yes,"  said  M'liss,  shutting  up  her  little  red  lips 
tightly. 

The  handsome  outlines  at  the  windows  peered  further 
into  the  schoolroom,  and  a  saintly,  Raphael-like  face,  with 
blond  beard  and  soft  blue  eyes,  belonging  to  the  biggest 
scamp  in  the  diggings,  turned  toward  the  child  and  whis 
pered  :  — 

"  Stick  to  it,  M'liss  !    It 's  only  a  big  bluff  of  the  parson." 

The  reverend  gentleman  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  cast  a 
compassionate  glance  at  the  master,  then  at  the  children, 
and  then  rested  his  eye  on  Clytemnestra.  That  young 
woman  softly  elevated  her  round,  white  arm.  Its  seduc 
tive  curves  were  enhanced  by  a  gorgeous  and  massive 
specimen  bracelet,  the  gift  of  one  of  her  humblest  wor 
shipers,  worn  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  There  was  a 
momentary  pause.  Clytie's  round  cheeks  were  very  pink 
and  soft.  Clytie's  big  eyes  were  very  bright  and  blue. 
Clytie's  low-necked  white  book  -  muslin  rested  softly  on 
Clytie's  white,  plump  shoulders.  Clytie  looked  at  the 
master,  and  the  master  nodded.  Then  Clytie  spoke  softly  : 

"  Joshua  commanded  the  sun  to  stand  still,  and  it  obeyed 
him." 

There  was  a  low  hum  of  applause  in  the  schoolroom,  a 
triumphant  expression  on  McSnagley's  face,  a  grave  shadow 
on  the  master's,  and  a  comical  look  of  disappointment 
reflected  from  the  windows.  M'liss  skimmed  rapidly  over 
her  astronomy,  and  then  shut  the  book  with  a  loud  snap. 
A  groan  burst  from  McSnagley,  an  expression  of  astonish 
ment  from  the  schoolroom,  and  a  yell  from  the  windows, 
as  M'liss  brought  her  red  fist  down  on  the  desk,  with  the 
emphatic  declaration ;  — 

«  It 's  a  d— n  lie,     I  don't  believe  it  I  " 


270  EARLIEK   SKETCHES 

CHAPTER  V 

"OPEN  SESAME" 

The  long  wet  season  had  drawn  near  its  close.  Signs  of 
spring  were  visible  in  the  swelling  buds  and  rushing  tor 
rents.  The  pine  forests  exhaled  a  fresher  spicery.  The 
azaleas  were  already  budding ;  the  ceanothus  getting  ready 
its  lilac  livery  for  spring.  On  the  green  upland  which 
climbed  the  Red  Mountain  at  its  southern  aspect,  the  long 
spike  of  the  monk's-hood  shot  up  from  its  broad-leaved 
stool  and  once  more  shook  its  dark  blue  bells.  Again  the 
billow  above  Smith's  grave  was  soft  and  green,  its  crest  just 
tossed  with  the  foam  of  daisies  and  buttercups.  The  little 
graveyard  had  gathered  a  few  new  dwellers  in  the  past  year, 
and  the  mounds  were  placed  two  by  two  by  the  little  paling 
until  they  reached  Smith's  grave,  and  there,  there  was  but 
one.  General  superstition  had  shunned  the  enforced  com 
panionship.  The  plot  beside  Smith  was  vacant. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  driver  of  the  great  Wingdam 
stage  to  whip  up  his  horses  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  so 
enter  Smith's  Pocket  at  that  remarkable  pace  which  the 
woodcuts  in  the  hotel  bar-room  represented  to  credulous 
humanity  as  the  usual  rate  of  speed  of  that  conveyance. 
At  least,  Aristides  Morpher  thought  so  as  he  stood  one 
Sunday  afternoon,  uneasily  conscious  of  his  best  jacket  and 
collar,  waiting  its  approach.  ISTor  could  anything  shake  hi? 
belief  that  regularly  on  that  occasion  the  horses  ran  away 
with  the  driver,  and  that  that  individual  from  motives  of 
deep  policy  pretended  not  to  notice  it  until  they  were 
stopped. 

"  Anybody  up  from  below,  Bill  ?  "  said  the  landlord  as 
the  driver  slowly  descended  from  his  perch. 

"  Nobody  for  you,"    responded  Bill  shortly.      "  Dusen 


M'LISS  271 

berry  kera  up  as  usual,  and  got  off  at  the  old  place.  You 
can't  make  a  livin'  off  him,  I  reckon." 

"  Have  you  found  out  what  his  name  is  yet  ?  "  continued 
•he  landlord,  implying  that  "  Dusenberry  "  was  simply  a 
playful  epithet  of  the  driver. 

"  He  says  his  name  is  Waters/'  returned  Bill."  Jake  said 
he  saw  him  at  the  North  Fork  in  '50  —  called  himself 
Moore  then.  Guess  he  ain't  no  good,  nowhow.  What 's 
he  doin'  round  here  ?  " 

"  Says  he  's  prospecting"  replied  the  landlord.  "  He  has 
a  claim  somewhere  in  the  woods.  Gambles  a  little  too,  I 
reckon.  He  don't  travel  on  his  beauty  anyhow." 

"  If  you  had  seen  him  makin'  up  to  a  piece  of  calico  in 
side,  last  trip,  and  she  a-makin'  up  to  him  quite  confidential- 
like,  I  guess  you  'd  think  he  was  a  lady-killer.  My  eye, 
but  was  n't  she  a  stunner  !  Clytie  Morpher  was  n't  nowhere 
to  begin  with  her." 

"  Wrho  was  she,  Bill  ?  "  asked  half  a  dozen  masculine 
voices. 

"  Don't  know.  We  picked  her  up  this  side  of  '  Coyote. ' 
Fancy  ?  I  tell  you  !  —  pretty  little  hat  and  pink  ribbings  — 
eyes  that  ud  bore  you  through  at  a  hundred  yards  —  white 
teeth  —  brown  gaiters,  and  such  an  ankle  !  She  did  n't  want 
to  show  it,  —  oh,  no  !  "  added  the  sarcastic  Bill  with  deep  sig 
nificance. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  her,  Bill  ?  "  asked  a  gentle  village 
swain  who  had  been  fired  by  the  glowing  picture  of  the  fair 
unknown. 

"  That 's  what 's  the  matter.  You  see  after  we  picked 
her  up,  she  said  she  was  goin'  through  to  Wingdam.  Of 
course  there  was  n't  anything  in  the  stage  or  on  the  road  too 
good  to  offer  her.  Old  Major  Spaffler  wanted  to  treat  her 
to  lemonade  at  every  station.  Judge  Plunkett  kep'  a-pullin' 
down  the  blinds  and  a-h'istin'  of  them  up  to  keep  out  the 
sun  and  let  in  the  air.  Blest  if  old  McSnagley  did  n't  want 


272  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

to  carry  her  travelin'-bag.  There  was  n't  any  attention, 
boys,  she  did  n't  get  —  but  it  was  n't  no  use  —  bless  you  I 
She  never  so  much  as  passed  the  time  of  day  with  them." 

"  But  where  did  she  go  ?  "  inquired  another  anxioui 
auditor. 

"  Keep  your  foot  off  the  drag,  and  I  '11  tell  you.  Arter 
we  left  King  Tail  Canon,  Dusenberry,  as  usual,  got  on. 
Presently  one  of  the  outsides  turned  round  to  me,  and  says 
he,  l  D — d  if  Ugly  Mug  ain't  got  the  inside  track  of  all 
of  you  this  time ! '  I  looked  down,  and  dern  my  skin  if 
there  was  n't  Dusenberry  a-sittin'  up  alongside  of  the  lady, 
quite  comfortable,  as  if  they  had  ben  children  together. 
At  the  next  station  Dusenberry  gets  off.  So  does  the  lady. 

*  Ain't  you  goin'  on  to  Wingdam,'  says  I.      (  No,'  says  she. 

*  May  n't  we  have  the  pleasure  of  your  kempany  further  ? ' 
says  the  judge,  taking  off  his  hat.      'No,  I  've  changed  my 
mind,'  says  she,  and  off  she  got,  and  off  she  walked  arm  in 
arm  with  him  as  cool  as  you  please." 

"  Wonder  if  that  wa'n't  the  party  that  passed  through 
here  last  July  ?  "  asked  the  blacksmith,  joining  the  loungers 
in  front  of  the  stage-office.  "  Waters  brought  up  a  buggy 
to  get  the  axle  bolted.  There  was  a  woman  setting  in  the 
buggy,  but  the  hood  was  drawn  down,  and  I  did  n't  get  to 
see  her  face." 

During  this  conversation  Aristides,  after  a  long,  linger 
ing  glance  at  the  stage,  had  at  last  torn  himself  away  from 
its  fascinations,  and  was  now  lounging  down  the  long  strag 
gling  street  in  a  peculiarly  dissipated  manner,  with  his  hat 
pushed  on  the  back  part  of  his  head,  his  right  hand  and  a 
greater  portion  of  his  right  arm  buried  in  his  trousers 
pocket.  This  might  have  been  partly  owing  to  the  short 
ness  of  his  legs  and  the  comparative  amplitude  of  his  trou 
sers,  which  to  the  casual  observer  seemed  to  obviate  the 
necessity  of  any  other  garment.  But  when  he  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  street,  and  further  enlivened  his  progress  by 


M'LISS  273 

whistling  shrilly  between  his  fingers,  and  finally  drew  a 
fragment  of  a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  between 
his  teeth,  it  was  evident  that  there  was  a  moral  as  well  a> 
physical  laxity  in  his  conduct.  The  near  fact  was  that 
Aristides  had  that  afternoon  evaded  the  Sunday-school, 
and  was  open  to  any  kind  of  infant  iniquity. 

The  main  street  of  Smith's  Pocket  gradually  lost  its 
civilized  character,  and  after  one  or  two  futile  attempts  at 
improvement  at  its  lower  extremity,  terminated  impotently 
in  a  chaos  of  ditches,  races,  and  trailings.  Out  of  this  again 
a  narrow  trail  started  along  the  mountain  side,  and  com- 
municated  with  that  vast  amphitheatre  which  still  exhibited 
the  pioneer  efforts  of  the  early  settlers.  It  was  this  trail 
that  Aristides  took  that  Sunday  afternoon,  and  which  he 
followed  until  he  reached  the  hillside  a  few  rods  below  the 
yawning  fissure  of  Smith's  Pocket.  After  a  careful  exami 
nation  of  the  vicinity,  he  cleared  away  the  underbrush  be 
side  a  fallen  pine  that  lay  near,  and  sat  down  in  the  attitude 
of  patient  and  deliberate  expectancy. 

Five  minutes  passed  —  ten,  twenty  —  and  finally  a  half- 
hour  was  gone.  Aristides  threw  away  his  cigar,  which  he 
had  lacked  determination  to  light,  and  peeled  small  slips 
from  the  inner  bark  of  the  pine-tree,  and  munched  them 
gravely.  Another  five,  ten,  and  twenty  minutes  passed,  and 
the  sun  began  to  drop  below  the  opposite  hillside.  Another 
ten  minutes,  and  the  whole  of  the  amphitheatre  above  was 
in  heavy  shadow.  Ten  minutes  more,  and  the  distant 
windows  in  the  settlement  flamed  redly.  Five  minutes, 
and  the  spire  of  the  Methodist  church  caught  the  glow—- 
and  then  the  underbrush  crackled. 

Aristides,  looking  up,  saw  the  trunk  of  the  prostrate  pine 
slowly  lifting  itself  before  him. 

A  second  glance  showed  the  fearless  and  self-possessed 
boy  that  the  apparent  phenomenon  was  simply  and  easily 
explained.  The  tree  had  fallen  midway  and  at  right  angles 


274  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

across  the  trunk  of  another  prostrate  monarch.  So  accu 
rately  and  evenly  was  it  balanced  that  the  child  was  satis 
fied,  from  a  liberal  experience  of  the  application  of  these 
principles  to  the  game  of  "  seesaw,"  that  a  very  slight 
impulse  to  either  end  was  sufficient  to  destroy  the  equilib 
rium.  That  impulse  proceeded  from  his  end  of  the  tree,  as 
he  saw  when  the  uplifted  trunk  disclosed  an  opening  in  the 
ground  beneath  it,  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man 
emerging  therefrom. 

Aristides  threw  himself  noiselessly  on  his  stomach.  The 
thick  clump  of  an  azalea  hid  him  from  view,  though  it  did 
not  obstruct  his  survey  of  the  stranger,  whom  he  at  once 
recognized  as  his  former  enemy,  —  the  man  with  the  red 
handkerchief,  —  the  hopeful  prospector  of  Red  Mountain, 
and  the  hypothetical  "  Dusenberry  "  of  the  stage-driver. 

The  stranger  looked  cautiously  round,  and  Aristides 
shrank  close  behind  the  friendly  azalea. 

Satisfied  that  he  was  unobserved,  the  subterranean  pro 
prietor  returned  to  the  opening  and  descended,  reappearing 
with  a  worn  black  enameled  traveling-bag  which  he  carried 
with  difficulty.  This  he  again  enveloped  in  a  blanket  and 
strapped  tightly  on  his  back,  and  a  long-handled  shovel, 
brought  up  from  the  same  mysterious  storehouse,  completed 
his  outfit.  As  he  stood  for  a  moment  leaning  on  the  shovel, 
it  was  the  figure  of  the  hopeful  prospector  in  the  heart  of 
the  forest.  A  very  slight  effort  was  sufficient  to  replace 
the  fallen  tree  in  its  former  position.  Raising  the  shovel 
to  his  shoulder,  he  moved  away,  brushing  against  the  aza 
lea  bush  which  hid  the  breathless  Aristides.  The  sound  of 
his  footsteps  retreating  through  the  crackling  brush  pre 
sently  died  out,  and  a  drowsy  Sabbath  stillness  succeeded. 

Aristides  rose.  There  was  a  wonderful  brightness  in 
his  gray  eyes,  and  a  flush  on  his  sunburned  cheek.  Seiz 
ing  a  root  of  the  fallen  pine  he  essayed  to  move  it.  But 
it  defied  his  endeavors.  Aristides  looked  round. 


M'LISS  275 

"  There  's  some  trick  about  it,  but  I  '11  find  it  yet,"  said 
that  astute  child. 

Breaking  off  the  limb  of  a  buckeye,  he  extemporized  a 
lever.  The  first  attempt  failed.  The  second  succeeded, 
and  the  long  roots  of  the  tree  again  ascended.  But  as  it 
required  prolonged  effort  to  keep  the  tree  up,  before  the 
impetus  was  lost  Aristides  seized  the  opportunity  to  jump 
into  the  opening.  At  the  same  moment  the  tree  slowly 
returned  to  its  former  position. 

In  the  sudden  change  from  the  waning  light  to  complete 
darkness,  Aristides  was  for  a  moment  confounded.  Recov 
ering  himself,  he  drew  a  match  from  his  capacious  pocket, 
and  striking  it  against  the  sole  of  his  shoe,  by  the  up- 
springing  flash  perceived  a  candle  stuck  in  the  crevices  of 
the  rock  beside  him.  Lighting  it,  he  glanced  curiously 
around  him.  He  was  at  the  entrance  of  a  long  gallery  at 
the  further  extremity  of  which  he  could  faintly  see  the 
glimmering  of  the  outer  daylight.  Following  this  gallery 
cautiously  he  presently  came  to  an  antechamber,  and  by 
the  glimmering  of  the  light  above  him  at  once  saw  that  it 
was  the  same  he  had  seen  in  his  wonderful  dream. 

The  antechamber  was  about  fourteen  feet  square,  with 
walls  of  decomposed  quartz,  mingling  with  flaky  mica  that 
reflected  here  and  there  the  gleam  of  Aristides's  candle  with 
a  singular  brilliancy.  It  did  not  need  much  observation 
on  his  part  to  determine  the  reason  of  the  stranger's  lonely 
labors.  On  a  rough  rocker  beside  him  were  two  fragments 
of  ore  taken  from  the  adjacent  wall,  the  smallest  of  which 
the  two  arms  of  Aristides  could  barely  clasp.  To  hK 
dazzled  eyes  they  seemed  to  be  almost  entirely  of  puU 
gold.  The  great  strike  of  '56  at  Ring  Tail  Canon  had 
brought  to  the  wonderful  vision  of  Smith's  Pocket  no 
such  nuggets  as  were  here. 

Aristides  turned  to  the  wall  again,  which  had  been  ap 
parently  the  last  scene  of  the  stranger's  labors,  and  from 


276  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

which  the  two  masses  of  ore  were  taken.  Even  to  his  in 
experienced  eye  it  represented  a  wealth  almost  incalculable. 
Through  the  loose,  red  soil  everywhere  glittering  star 
points  of  the  precious  metal  threw  back  the  rays  of  his 
candle.  Aristides  turned  pale  and  trembled. 

Here  was  the  realization  of  his  most  extravagant  fancy. 
Ever  since  his  strange  dream  and  encounter  with  the 
stranger,  he  had  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  follow  up  his 
adventure,  and  discover  the  secrets  of  the  second  cavern. 
But  when  he  had  returned  to  Smith's  Pocket,  a  few  days 
after,  the  wreck  of  the  fallen  roof  had  blocked  up  that 
part  of  the  opening  from  which  he  had  caught  sight  of  the 
hidden  workman  below.  During  his  visit  he  had  picked 
up  from  among  the  rubbish  the  memorandum  book  which 
had  supplied  M'liss  with  letter  paper.  Still  haunting  the 
locality  after  school  hours,  he  had  noticed  that  regularly  at 
sunset  the  man  with  the  red  handkerchief  appeared  in  some 
mysterious  way  from  the  hillside  below  Smith's  Pocket, 
and  went  away  in  the  direction  of  the  settlement.  By 
careful  watching,  Aristides  had  fixed  the  location  of  his 
mysterious  appearance  to  a  point  a  few  rods  below  the 
opening  of  Smith's  Pocket.  Flushed  by  this  discovery,  he 
had  been  betrayed  from  his  usual  discretion  so  far  as  to 
intimate  a  hinting  of  the  suspicion  that  possessed  him  in 
the  few  mysterious  words  he  had  whispered  to  M'liss  at 
school.  The  accident  we  have  described  above  determined 
the  complete  discovery  of  the  secret. 

Who  was  the  stranger,  and  why  did  he  keep  the  fact  of 
this  immense  wealth  hidden  from  the  world  ?  Suppose 
he,  Aristides,  were  to  tell  ?  Would  n't  the  schoolboys 
look  up  at  him  with  interest  as  the  hero  and  discoverer  of 
this  wonderful  cavern,  and  would  n't  the  stage-driver  feel 
proud  of  his  acquaintance  and  offer  him  rides  for  nothing  ? 
Why  had  n't  Smith  discovered  it  —  who  was  poor  and  wanted 
money,  whom  Aristides  had  liked,  who  was  the  father  of 


M'LISS  277 

M'liss,  for  whom  Aristides  confessed  a  secret  passion,  who 
belonged  to  the  settlement  and  helped  to  build  it  up— . 
instead  of  the  stranger  ?  Had  Smith  never  a  suspicion 
that  gold  was  so  near  him,  and  if  so,  why  had  he  killed 
himself  ?  But  did  Smith  kill  himself  ?  And  at  this 
thought  and  its  correlative  fancy,  again  the  cheek  of  Aris 
tides  blanched,  and  the  candle  shook  in  his  nerveless  fingers. 

Apart  and  distinct  from  these  passing  conjectures  one  idea 
remained  firm  and  dominant  in  his  mind  :  the  man  with 
the  red  handkerchief  had  no  right  to  this  treasure  !  The 
mysterious  instinct  which  directed  this  judicial  ruling  of 
Aristides  had  settled  this  fact  as  indubitably  as  though 
proven  by  the  weight  of  the  strongest  testimony.  For  an 
instant  a  wild  thought  sprang  up  in  his  heart,  and  he  seized 
the  nearest  mass  of  ore  with  the  half-formed  intention  of 
bearing  it  directly  to  the  feet  of  M'liss  as  her  just  and  due 
inheritance.  But  Aristides  could  not  lift  it,  and  the  idea 
passed  out  of  his  mind  with  the  frustrated  action. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  gallery  a  few  blankets  were 
lying,  and  with  some  mining  implements,  a  kettle  of  water, 
a  few  worn  flannel  shirts,  were  the  only  articles  which  this 
subterranean  habitation  possessed.  In  turning  over  one  of 
the  blankets  Aristides  picked  up  a  woman's  comb.  It  was 
a  tortoise-shell,  and  bright  with  some  fanciful  ornamenta 
tion.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Aristides  pocketed 
it  as  the  natural  property  of  M'liss.  A  pocketbook  con 
taining  a  few  old  letters  in  the  breast  pocket  of  one  of  the 
blue  shirts  was  transferred  to  that  of  Aristides  with  the 
same  coolness  and  sentiment  of  instinctive  justice. 

Aristides  wisely  reflected  that  these  unimportant  articles 
would  excite  no  suspicion  if  found  in  his  possession.  A 
fragment  of  the  rock,  which,  if  he  had  taken  it  as  he  felt 
impelled,  would  have  precipitated  the  discovery  that  Aris 
tides  had  decided  to  put  off  until  he  had  perfected  a  certain 
plan. 


278  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

The  light  from  the  opening  above  had  gradually  faded, 
and  Aristides  knew  that  night  had  fallen.  To  prevent 
suspicion  he  must  return  home.  He  reentered  the  gallery 
and  reached  the  opening  of  the  egress.  One  of  the  roots 
of  the  tree  projected  into  the  opening. 

He  seized  it  and  endeavored  to  lift  it,  but  in  vain.  Pant 
ing  with  exertion,  he  again  and  again  exerted  the  fullest 
power  of  his  active  sinews,  but  the  tree  remained  immova 
ble  —  the  opening  remained  sealed  as  firmly  as  with  Sol 
omon's  signet.  Raising  his  candle  towards  it,  Aristides  saw 
the  reason  of  its  resistance.  In  his  hurried  ingress  he  had 
allowed  the  tree  to  revolve  sufficiently  to  permit  one  of  its 
roots  to  project  into  the  opening,  which  held  it  firmly  down. 
In  the  shock  of  the  discovery  the  excitement  which  had 
sustained  him  gave  way,  and  with  a  hopeless  cry  the  just 
Aristides  fell  senseless  on  the  floor  of  the  gallery. 

CHAPTER  VI 

THE    TRIALS    OF    MRS.    MORPHER 

"  Now,  where  on  earth  can  that  child  be  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Morpher,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  as  she  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  "  Mountain  Ranch,"  looking  down  the 
Wingdam  road  at  sunset.  "  With  his  best  things  on,  too. 
Goodness !  —  what  were  boys  made  for  ?  " 

Mr.  Morpher,  without  replying  to  this  question,  appar 
ently  addressed  to  himself  as  an  adult  representative  of  the 
wayward  species,  appeared  at  the  door,  and  endeavored  to 
^our  oil  on  the  troubled  waters. 

"Oh,  he's  all  right,  Sue  !  Don't  fuss  about  him"  saia 
Mr.  Morpher  with  an  imbecile  sense  of  conveying  comfort 
b  the  emphasized  pronoun.  "He's  down  the  gulch,  or 
in  the  tunnel,  or  over  to  the  claim.  He  '11  turn  up  by  bed 
time.  Don't  you  worry  about  him.  I  '11  look  him  up  in 


M'LISS  279 

a  minit,"  and  Mr.  Morpher,  taking  his  hat,  sauntered  down 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  National  Hotel. 

Mrs.  Mopher  gazed  doubtfully  after  her  liege.  "  Look 
ing  up  "  Aristides,  in  her  domestic  experience,  implied  a 
prolonged  absence  in  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel,  the  tedium 
whereof  was  beguiled  by  seven-up  or  euchre.  But  she 
only  said :  "  Don't  be  long,  James,"  and  sighed  hopelessly 
as  she  turned  back  into  the  house. 

Once  again  within  her  own  castle  walls  Mrs.  Morpher 
dropped  her  look  of  patient  suffering  and  glanced  defiantly 
around  for  a  fresh  grievance. 

The  decorous  little  parlor  offered  nothing  to  provoke  the 
hostility  of  her  peculiar  instincts.  Spotless  were  the  white 
curtains  ;  the  bright  carpet  guiltless  of  stain  or  dust.  The 
chairs  were  placed  arithmetically  in  twos,  and  added  up 
evenly  on  the  four  sides  with  nothing  to  carry  over.  Two 
bunches  of  lavender  and  fennel  breathed  an  odor  of  sancti 
fied  cleanliness  through  the  room.  Five  daguerreotypes  on 
the  mantelpiece  represented  the  Morpher  family  in  the 
progressive  stages  of  petrifaction,  and  had  the  Medusa-like 
effect  of  freezing  visitors  into  similar  attitudes  in  their 
chairs.  The  walls  were  further  enlivened  with  two  colored 
engravings  of  scenes  in  the  domestic  history  of  G-eorge 
Washington,  in  which  the  Father  of  his  Country  seemed  to 
look  blandly  from  his  own  correct  family  circle  into  Mor- 
pher's,  and  to  breathe  quite  audibly  from  his  gilt  frame  a 
dignified  blessing. 

Lingering  a  moment  in  this  sacred  inclosure  to  readjust 
the  tablecloth,  Mrs.  Morpher  passed  into  the  dining-room 
where  the  correct  Clytie  presided  at  the  supper-table,  a 
which  the  rest  of  the  family  were  seated.      Mrs.  Morpher's 
quick  eyes  caught  the  spectacle  of    M'liss  with  her  chin 
resting  on  her  hands,  and  her  elbows  on  the  table,  sardoni* 
cally  surveying  the  model  of  deportment  opposite  to  her. 

"M'liss!" 


280  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Where  's  your  elbows  ?  " 

"  Here  's  one  and  there  's  the  other/'  said  M'liss  quietly, 
indicating  their  respective  localities  by  smartly  tapping 
them  with  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

"  Take  them  off  the  table,  instantly,  you  bold,  forward 
girl  —  and  you,  sir,  quit  that  giggling  and  eat  your  supper, 
if  you  don't  want  to  be  put  to  bed  without  it !  "  added  Mrs. 
Morpher  to  Lycurgus,  to  whom  M'liss's  answer  had  afforded 
boundless  satisfaction.  "  You  're  getting  to  be  just  as  bad 
as  her,  and  mercy  knows  you  never  were  a  seraphim  !  " 

"  What 's  a  seraphim,  mother,  and  what  do  they  do  ?  " 
asked  Lycurgus,  with  growing  interest. 

"They  don't  ask  questions  when  they  should  be  eating 
their  supper,  and  thankful  for  it,"  interposed  Clytie,  au 
thoritatively,  as  one  to  whom  the  genteel  attributes  and 
social  habits  of  the  seraphim  had  been  a  privileged  revela 
tion. 

"  But,  mother  "  — 

"  Hush  —  and  don't  be  a  heathen  —  run  and  see  who  is 
coming  in,"  said  Mrs.  Morpher,  as  the  sound  of  footsteps 
was  heard  in  the  passage. 

The  door  opened  and  McSnagley  entered. 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul  —  how  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Morpher,  with  genteel  astonishment.  "  Quite  a  stranger,  I 
declare." 

This  was  a  polite  fiction.  M'liss  knew  the  fact  to  be 
that  Mrs.  Morpher  was  reputed  to  "  set  the  best  table  "  in 
Smith's  Pocket,  and  McSnagley  always  called  in  on  Sunday 
evenings  at  supper  to  discuss  the  current  gossip,  and  "  nag  " 
M'liss  with  selected  texts. 

The  verbal  McSnagley  as  usual  could  n't  stop  a  moment 
—  and  just  dropped  in  "in  passin' ."  The  actual  McSnag 
ley  deposited  his  hat  in  the  corner,  and  placed  himself,  in 
the  flesh,  on  a  chair  by  the  table. 


M'LISS  281 

"  And  how  'a  Brother  James,  and  the  fammerly  ?  " 

"  They  're  all  well  —  except  '  Bisty  ;  '  he  's  off  again,  — 
as  if  my  life  were  n't  already  pestered  out  with  one  child," 
and  Mrs.  Morpher  glanced  significantly  at  M'liss. 

"Ah,  well,  we  all  of  us  have  our  trials/7  said  McSnag- 
ley.  "  I  've  been  ailin'  again.  That  ager  must  he  in  my 
bones  still.  I  've  been  rather  onsettled  myself  to-day." 

There  was  the  appearance  of  truth  in  this  statement ; 
Mr.  McSnagley's  voice  had  a  hollow  resonant  sound,  and 
his  eyes  were  nervous  and  fidgety.  He  had  an  odd  trick, 
too,  of  occasionally  stopping  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence, 
and  listening  as  though  he  heard  some  distant  sound. 
These  things,  which  Mrs.  Morpher  recalled  afterwards,  did 
not,  in  the  undercurrent  of  uneasiness  about  Aristides  which 
she  felt  the  whole  of  that  evening,  so  particularly  attract 
her  notice. 

"  I  know  something,"  said  Lycurgus,  during  one  of  these 
pauses,  from  the  retirement  of  his  corner. 

"  If  you  dare  to  — Kerg  !  "  said  M'liss. 

"  M'liss  says  she  knows  where  Bisty  is,  but  she  won't 
tell,"  said  the  lawgiver,  not  heeding  the  warning.  The 
words  were  scarcely  uttered  before  M'liss's  red  hand  flashed 
in  the  air  and  descended  with  a  sounding  box  on  the 
traitor's  ear.  Lycurgus  howled,  Mrs.  Morpher  darted  into 
the  corner,  and  M'liss  was  dragged  defiant  and  struggling 
to  the  light. 

"  Oh,  you  wicked,  wicked  child  —  why  don't  you  say 
where,  if  you  know  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Morpher,  shaking  her,  as 
if  the  information  were  to  be  dislodged  from  some  concealed 
part  of  her  clothing. 

"I  didn't  say  I  knew  for  sure,"  at  last  responded 
M'liss.  "  I  said  I  thought  I  knew." 

"  Well,  where  do  you  think  he  is  ?  " 

But  M'liss  was  firm.  Even  the  gloomy  picture  of  the 
future  state  devised  by  McSnagley  could  not  alter  he/ 


282  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

determination.  Mrs.  Morpher,  who  had  a  wholesome  aw^ 
for  this  strange  child,  at  last  had  recourse  to  entreaty, 
Finally  M'liss  offered  a  compromise. 

"  I  '11  tell  the  master,  but  I  won't  tell  you  —  partikerly 
him,"  said  M'liss,  indicating  the  parson  with  a  bodkin- 
.Hke  dart  of  her  forefinger. 

Mrs.  Morpher  hesitated.  Her  maternal  anxiety  at 
length  overcame  her  sense  of  dignity  and  discipline. 

"  Who  knows  where  the  master  is,  or  where  he  is  to  be 
found  to-night  ?  "  she  asked  hastily. 

"  He  's  over  to  Dr.  Duchesne's,"  said  Clytie  eagerly ; 
"  that  is,"  she  stammered,  a  rich  color  suddenly  flushing 
from  her  temples  to  her  round  shoulders,  "  he  's  usually 
there  in  the  evenings,  I  mean." 

"  Run  over,  there  's  a  dear,  and  ask  him  to  come  here," 
said  Mrs.  Morpher,  without  noticing  a  sudden  irregularity 
of  conduct  in  her  firstborn.  "  Run  quick  !  " 

Clytie  did  not  wait  for  a  second  command.  Without 
availing  herself  of  the  proffered  company  of  McSnagley  she 
hastily  tied  the  strings  of  her  school  hat  under  her  plump 
chin,  and  slipped  out  of  the  house.  It  was  not  far  to  the 
doctor's  office,  and  Clytie  walked  quickly,  overlooking  in 
her  haste  and  preoccupation  the  admiring  glances  which 
several  of  the  swains  of  Smith's  Pocket  cast  after  her  as 
she  passed.  But  on  arriving  at  the  doctor's  door,  so  out  of 
breath  and  excited  was  this  usual  model  of  deportment  that, 
on  finding  herself  in  the  presence  of  the  master  and  his 
friend,  she  only  stood  in  embarrassed  silence,  and  made  up 
for  her  lack  of  verbal  expression  by  a  succession  of  elo 
quent  blushes. 

*•*  Let  us  look  at  her  for  a  moment  as  she  stands  there. 
Her  little  straw  hat,  trimmed  with  cherry-colored  ribbons, 
rests  on  the  waves  of  her  blonde  hair.  There  are  other  gay 
ribbons  on  her  light  summer  dress,  clasping  her  round 
waist,  girdling  her  wrist,  and  fastening  her  collar  about  her 


M'LISS  283 

•white  throat.  Her  large  blue  eyes  are  very  dark  and  moist 
—  it  may  be  with  excitement  or  a  tearful  thought  of  the 
lost  Aristides  —  or  the  tobacco  smoke,  with  which  I  regret 
"* To  say  the  room  is  highly  charged.  But  certainly  as  she 
stands  leaning  against  the  doorway,  biting  her  moist  scar 
let  lip,  and  trying  to  pull  down  the  broad  brim  of  her  hat 
over  the  surging  waves  of  color  that  will  beat  rhythmically 
up  to  her  cheeks  and  temples,  she  is  so  dangerously  pretty 
that  I  am  glad  for  the  master's  sake  he  is  the  philosopher  he 
has  just  described  himself  to  his  friend  the  doctor,  and  that 
he  prefers  to  study  human  physiology  from  the  inner  surfaces. 
When  Clytie  had  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to  state 
her  message,  the  master  offered  to  accompany  her  back. 
As  Clytie  took  his  arm  with  some  slight  trepidation  Dr. 
Duchesne,  who  had  taken  sharp  notes  of  these  "  febrile  " 
symptoms,  uttered  a  prolonged  whistle  and  returned  thought 
fully  to  his  office. 

Although  Clytie  found  the  distance  returning  no  further 
than  the  distance  going,  with  the  exhaustion  of  her  first 
journey  it  was  natural  that  her  homeward  steps  should  be 
slower,  and  that  the  master  should  regulate  his  pace  to 
accommodate  her.  It  was  natural,  too,  that  her  voice  should 
be  quite  low  and  indistinct,  so  that  the  master  was  obliged 
to  bring  his  hat  nearer  the  cherry-colored  ribbons  in  the 
course  of  conversation.  It  was  also  natural  that  he  should 
offer  the  sensitive  young  girl  such  comfort  as  lay  in  ten 
derly  modulated  tones  and  playful  epithets.  And  if  in  the 
irregularities  of  the  main  street  it  was  necessary  to  take 
Clytie's  hand  or  to  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  in  help 
ing  her  up  declivities,  that  the  master  saw  no  impropriety 
in  the  act  was  evident  from  the  fact  that  he  did  not  remove 
his  arm  when  the  difficulty  was  surmounted.  In  this  way 
Clytie's  return  occupied  some  moments  more  than  her  go- 
ing,  and  Mrs.  Morpher  was  waiting  anxiously  at  the  door 
when  the  young  people  arrived. 


284  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

As  the  master  entered  the  rooom,  M'liss  called  him  to 
her.  "  Bend  down  your  head,"  she  said,  "  and  I  '11  whis 
per.  But  mind,  now,  I  don't  say  I  know  for  truth  where 
Kisty  is,  I  only  reckon." 

The  master  bent  down  his  head.  As  usual  in  such  cases, 
everybody  else  felt  constrained  to  listen,  and  McSnagley's 
curiosity  was  awakened  to  its  fullest  extent.  When  the 
master  had  received  the  required  information,  he  said 
quietly  :  — 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  myself  to  this  place  which  M'liss 
wishes  to  make  a  secret  of  and  see  if  the  boy  is  there.  It 
will  save  trouble  to  any  one  else,  if  she  should  be  mis 
taken." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  take  some  one  with  you  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Morpher. 

"  By  all  means.  I  '11  go  !  "  said  Mr.  McSnagley,  with 
feverish  alacrity. 

The  master  looked  inquiringly  at  M'liss. 

"  He  can  go  if  he  wants  to,  but  he  'd  better  not,"  said 
M'liss,  looking  directly  into  McSnagley's  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  little  savage  ?  "  said 
McSnagley  quickly. 

M'liss  turned  scornfully  away.  "  Go,"  she  said,  —  "  go 
if  you  want  to,"  and  resumed  her  seat  in  the  corner. 

The  master  hesitated.  But  he  could  not  withstand  the 
appeal  in  the  eyes  of  the  mother  and  daughter,  and  after  a 
short  inward  struggle  he  turned  to  McSnagley  and  bade 
him  briefly  "  Come." 

When  they  had  left  the  house  and  stood  in  the  road  to 
gether,  McSnagley  stopped. 

"  Where  are  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  To  Smith's  Pocket." 

McSnagley  still  lingered.  "  Do  you  ever  carry  any  wep- 
pings  ?  "  he  at  length  asked. 

"  Weapons  ?     No.     What  do  you  want  with  weapons  to 


M'LISS  285 

go  a  mile  on  a  starlit  road  to  a  deserted  claim.  Nonsense, 
man,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  We  're  hunting  a  lost 
child,  not  a  runaway  felon.  Come  along,"  and  the  master 
dragged  him  away. 

Mrs.  Morpher  watched  them  from  the  door  until  their 
figures  were  lost  in  the  darkness.  When  she  returned  to 
the  dining-room,  Clytie  had  already  retired  to  her  room, 
and  Mrs.  Morpher,  overruling  M'liss's  desire  to  sit  up  until 
the  master  returned,  bade  her  follow  that  correct  example. 
1  There  's  Clytie,  now,  gone  to  bed  like  a  young  lady,  and 
do  you  do  like  her,"  and  Mrs.  Morpher,  with  this  one  drop 
of  balm  in  the  midst  of  her  trials,  trimmed  the  light  and 
sat  down  in  patience  to  wait  for  Aristides,  arid  console  her 
self  with  the  reflection  of  Clytie's  excellence.  "  Poor 
Clytie  !  "  mused  that  motherly  woman  ;  "  how  excited  and 
worried  she  looks  about  her  brother.  I  hope  she  '11  be  able 
to  get  to  sleep." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mrs.  Morpher  that  there  were  seasons 
in  the  life  of  young  girls  when  younger  brothers  ceased  to 
become  objects  of  extreme  solicitude.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  to  go  upstairs  and  see  how  her  wish  was  likely  to  be 
gratified.  It  was  well  in  her  anxiety  that  she  did  not,  and 
that  the  crowning  trial  of  the  day's  troubles  was  spared  her 
then.  For  at  that  moment  Clytie  was  lying  on  the  bed 
where  she  had  flung  herself  without  undressing,  the  heavy 
masses  of  her  blond  hair  tumbled  about  her  neck,  and  her 
ho)  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

Of  what  was  the  correct  Clytie  thinking  ? 

She  was  thinking,  lying  there  with  her  burning  cheeks 
pressed  against  the  pillow,  that  she  loved  the  master ! 
She  was  recalling  step  by  step  every  incident  that  had  oc 
curred  in  their  lonely  walk.  She  was  repeating  to  herself 
his  facile  sentences,  wringing  and  twisting  them  to  extract 
one  drop  to  assuage  the  strange  thirst  that  was  growing  up 
in  her  soul.  She  was  thinking  —  silly  Clytie  !  —  that  he  had 


286  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

never  appeared  so  kind  before,  and  she  was  thinking  —  sil 
lier  Clytie  !  —  that  no  one  had  ever  before  felt  as  she  did 
then. 

How  soft  and  white  his  hands  were  !  How  sweet  and 
gentle  were  the  tones  of  his  voice  !  How  easily  he  spoke  — 
80  unlike  her  father,  McSnagley,  or  the  young  men  whom 
she  met  at  church  or  on  picnics  !  How  tall  and  handsome 
he  looked  as  he  pressed  her  hand  at  the  door !  Did  he 
press  her  hand,  or  was  it  a  mistake  ?  Yes,  he  must  have 
pressed  her  hand,  for  she  remembers  now  to  have  pressed  his 
in  return.  And  he  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  once,  and 
she  feels  it  yet,  and  the  strange  perfume  as  he  drew  her 
closer  to  him.  (Mem.  —  The  master  had  been  smoking. 
Poor  Clytie  !) 

When  she  had  reached  this  point  she  raised  herself  and 
sat  up,  and  began  the  process  of  undressing,  mechanically 
putting  each  article  away  in  the  precise,  methodical  habit  of 
her  former  life.  But  she  found  herself  soon  sitting  again 
on  the  bed,  twisting  her  hair,  which  fell  over  her  plump 
white  shoulders,  idly  between  her  fingers,  and  patting  the 
carpet  with  her  small  white  foot.  She  had  been  sitting  thus 
some  minutes  when  she  heard  the  sound  of  voices  with 
out,  the  trampling  of  many  feet,  and  a  loud  rapping  at  the 
door  below.  She  sprang  to  the  door  and  looked  out  in  the 
passage.  Something  white  passed  by  her  like  a  flash  and 
crouched  down  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  It  was  M'liss. 

Mrs.  Morpher  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  Mr.  Morpher  in  ?  "  said  a  half  dozen  strange,  hoarse 
voices. 

"  No !  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  's  at  some  of  the  saloons.  Oh,  tell  me,  has  any 
thing  happened  ?  Is  it  about  Aristides  ?  Where  is  he 
—  is  he  safe  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Morpher,  wringing  her  hands  in 
agony. 


M'LISS  287 

"  He  'a  all  right,"  said  one  of  the  men,  with  Mr.  Mor- 
pher's  old  emphasis  ;  "''  but ''  — 

"  But  what  ?  " 

M'liss  moved  slowly  down  the  staircase,  and  Clytie  from 
-he  passage  above  held  her  breath. 

"There's  been  a  row  down  to  Smith's  old  Pocket  —  c 
fight  —  a  man  killed." 

"  Who  ?  "  shouted  M'liss  from  the  stairs. 

"  McSnagley  —  shot  dead." 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PEOPLE  ) 

vs.  V  Before  Chief  Justice  LYNCH. 

JOHX  DOE  WATERS.  ) 

The  hurried  statement  of  the  messenger  was  corroborated 
in  the  streets  that  night.  It  was  certain  that  McSnagley 
was  killed.  Smith's  Pocket,  excited  but  skeptical,  had 
seen  the  body,  had  put  its  fingers  in  the  bullethole,  and 
was  satisfied.  Smith's  Pocket,  albeit  hoarse  with  shouting 
and  excitement,  still  discussed  details  with  infinite  relish 
in  bar-rooms  and  saloons,  and  in  the  main  street  in  clam 
orous  knots  that  in  front  of  the  jail  where  the  prisoner 
was  confined  seemed  to  swell  into  a  mob.  Smith's  Pocket, 
bearded,  blue-shirted,  and  belligerent,  crowding  about  this 
locality,  from  time  to  time  uttered  appeals  to  justice  that 
swelled  on  the  night  wind,  not  infrequently  coupling  these 
invocations  with  the  name  of  that  eminent  jurist  —  Lynch. 

Let  not  the  simple  reader  suppose  that  the  mere  taking 
off  of  a  fellow  mortal  had  created  this  uproar.  The  tenure 
of  life  in  Smith's  Pocket  was  vain  and  uncertain  at  the 
best,  and  as  such  philosophically  accepted,  and  the  blowing 
out  of  a  brief  candle  here  and  there  seldom  left  a  perma 
nent  shadow  with  the  survivors.  In  such  instances,  too, 


288  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

the  victims  had  received  their  quietus  from  the  hands  of 
brother  townsmen,  socially,  as  it  were,  in  broad  day,  in  the 
open  streets,  and  under  other  mitigating  circumstances. 
Thus,  when  Judge  Starbottle  of  Virginia  and  "  French  Pete  'J 
exchanged  shots  with  each  other  across  the  plaza  until  their 
revolvers  were  exhausted,  and  the  luckless  Pete  received  a 
bullet  through  the  lungs,  half  the  town  witnessed  it,  and 
were  struck  with  the  gallant  and  chivalrous  bearing  of  these 
gentlemen,  and  to  this  day  point  with  feelings  of  pride  and 
admiration  to  the  bulletholes  in  the  door  of  the  National 
Hotel,  as  they  explain  how  narrow  was  the  escape  of  the 
women  in  the  parlor.  But  here  was  a  man  murdered  at 
night,  in  a  lonely  place,  and  by  a  stranger  —  a  man  un 
known  to  the  saloons  of  Smith's  Pocket  —  a  wretch  who 
could  not  plead  the  excitement  of  monte  or  the  delirium  of 
whiskey  as  an  excuse.  No  wonder  that  Smith's  Pocket 
surged  with  virtuous  indignation  beneath  the  windows  of 
his  prison,  and  clamored  for  his  blood. 

And  as  the  crowd  thickened  and  swayed  to  and  fro,  the 
story  of  his  crime  grew  exaggerated  by  hurried  and  frequent 
repetition.  Half  a  dozen  speakers  volunteered  to  give  the 
details  with  an  added  horror  to  every  sentence.  How  one 
of  Morpher's  children  had  been  missing  for  a  week  or  more. 
How  the  schoolmaster  and  the  parson  were  taking  a  walk 
that  evening,  and  coming  to  Smith's  Pocket  heard  a  faint 
voice  from  its  depths  which  they  recognized  as  belonging  to 
the  missing  child.  How  they  had  succeeded  in  dragging 
him  out  and  gathered  from  his  infant  lips  the  story  of  his 
incarceration  by  the  murderer,  Waters,  and  his  enforced 
labors  in  the  mine.  How  they  were  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Waters,  followed  by  a  highly  colored  and 
epithet-illustrated  account  of  the  interview  and  quarrel. 
How  Waters  struck  the  schoolmaster,  who  returned  the  blow 
with  a  pick.  How  Waters  thereupon  drew  a  derringer  and 
fired,  missing  the  schoolmaster,  but  killing  McSnagley 


M'LISS  289 

behind  him.  How  it  was  believed  that  Waters  was  one  of 
Joaquin's  gang,  that  he  had  killed  Smith,  etc.,  etc.  At 
each  pause  the  crowd  pushed  and  panted,  stealthily  creeping 
around  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  jail  like  some  strange 
beast  of  prey,  until  the  climax  was  reached,  and  a  hush  fell, 
and  two  men  were  silently  dispatched  for  a  rope,  and  a, 
critical  examination  was  made  of  the  limbs  of  a  pine-tree  in 
the  vicinity. 

The  man  to  whom  these  incidents  had  the  most  terrible 
significance  might  have  seemed  the  least  concerned  as  he  sat 
that  night  but  a  few  feet  removed  from  the  eager  crowd 
without,  his  hands  lightly  clasped  together  between  his 
knees,  and  the  expression  on  his  face  of  one  whose  thoughts 
were  far  away.  A  candle  stuck  in  a  tin  sconce  on  the  wall 
nickered  as  the  night  wind  blew  freshly  through  a  broken 
pane  of  the  window.  Its  uncertain  light  revealed  a  low 
room  whose  cloth  ceiling  was  stained  and  ragged,  and  from 
whose  boarded  walls  the  torn  paper  hung  in  strips ;  a  lumber- 
room  partitioned  from  the  front  office,  which  was  occupied 
by  a  justice  of  the  peace.  If  this  temporary  dungeon  had 
«n  appearance  of  insecurity,  there  was  some  compensation  in 
the  spectacle  of  an  armed  sentinel  who  sat  upon  a  straw 
mattress  in  the  doorway,  and  another  who  patrolled  the 
narrow  hall  which  led  to  the  street.  That  the  prisoner  was 
not  placed  in  one  of  the  cells  in  the  floor  below  may  have 
been  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  law  recognized  his  detention 
as  only  temporary,  and  while  providing  the  two  guards  as  a 
preventive  against  the  egress  of  crime  within,  discreetly 
removed  all  unnecessary  and  provoking  obstacles  to  the 
ingress  of  justice  from  without. 

Since  the  prisoner's  arrest  he  had  refused  to  answer  any 
interrogatories.  Since  he  had  been  placed  in  confinement  he 
had  not  moved  from  his  present  attitude.  The  guard,  find 
ing  all  attempts  at  conversation  fruitless,  had  fallen  into  a 
veverie,  and  regaled  himself  with  pieces  of  straw  plucked 


290  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

from  the  mattress.  A  mouse  ran  across  the  floor.  The 
silence  contrasted  strangely  with  the  hum  of  voices  in  the 
street. 

The  candle-light,  falling  across  the  prisoner's  forehead, 
showed  the  features  which  Smith's  Pocket  knew  and  recog. 
nized  as  Waters,  the  strange  prospector.  Had  M'liss  or 
Aristides  seen  him  then  they  would  have  missed  that  sinister 
expression  which  was  part  of  their  fearful  remembrance. 
The  hard,  grim  outlines  of  his  mouth  were  relaxed,  the 
broad  shoulders  were  bent  and  contracted,  the  quick,  search 
ing  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy.  The  strong  man  — 
— ^physically  strong  only  —  was  breaking  up.  The  fist  that 
might  have  felled  an  ox  could  do  nothing  more  than  sepa 
rate  its  idle  fingers  with  childishness  of  power  and  purpose. 
An  hour  longer  in  this  condition,  and  the  gallows  would 
have  claimed  a  figure  scarcely  less  limp  and  impotent  than 
that  it  was  destined  to  ultimately  reject. 

He  had  been  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Would  they 
hang  him  ?  No,  they  must  try  him  first,  legally,  and  he 
could  prove  —  he  could  prove —  But  what  could  he  prove? 
For  whenever  he  attempted  to  consider  the  uncertain  chances 
of  his  escape,  he  found  his  thoughts  straying  wide  of  the 
question.  It  was  of  no  use  for  him  to  clasp  his  fingers  or 
knit  his  brows.  Why  did  the  recollection  of  a  school-fellow, 
long  since  forgotten,  blot  out  all  the  fierce  and  feverish 
memories  of  the  night  and  the  terrible  certainty  of  the 
future  ?  Why  did  the  strips  of  paper  hanging  from  the 
wall  recall  to  him  the  pattern  of  a  kite  he  had  flown  forty 
years  ago.  In  a  moment  like  this,  when  all  his  energies 
were  required  and  all  his  cunning  and  tact  would  be  called 
into  service,  could  he  think  of  nothing  better  than  trying  to 
match  the  torn  paper  on  the  wall,  or  to  count  the  cracks  in 
the  floor  ?  And  an  oath  rose  to  his  lips,  but  from  very 
feebleness  died  away  without  expression. 

Why  had  he  ever  come  to  Smith's  Pocket  ?     If  he  had 


M'LISS  291 

not  been  guided  by  that  hell-cat,  this  would  not  have  hap 
pened.  What  if  he  were  to  tell  all  he  knew  ?  What  if  he 
should  accuse  her?  But  would  they  be  willing  to  give  up 
the  bird  they  had  already  caught  ?  Yet  he  again  found 
himself  cursing  his  own  treachery  and  cowardice,  and  this 
time  an  exclamation  burst  from  his  lips  and  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  guard. 

"  Hello,  there  !  easy,  old  fellow ;  thar  ain't  any  good  in 
that,"  said  the  sentinel,  looking  up.  "  It 's  a  bad  fix  you  're 
in,  sure,  but  rarin'  and  pitchin'  won't  help  things.  'T  ain't 
no  use  cussin'  —  leastways,  't  ain't  that  kind  o'  swearing  that 
gets  a  chap  out  o'  here,"  he  added,  with  a  conscientious 
reservation.  "  Now,  ef  I  was  in  your  place,  I  'd  kinder 
reflect  on  my  sins,  and  make  my  peace  with  God  Almighty, 
for  I  tell  you  the  looks  o'  them  people  outside  ain't  pleas 
ant.  You  're  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  and  the  law  will 
protect  you  as  far  as  it  can,  —  as  far  as  two  men  can  stand 
agin  a  hundred  ;  sabe  ?  That 's  what 's  the  matter  ;  and 
it 's  as  well  that  you  knowed  that  now  as  any  time." 

But  the  prisoner  had  relapsed  into  his  old  attitude,  and 
was  surveying  the  jailor  with  the  same  abstracted  air  as 
before.  That  individual  resumed  his  seat  on  the  mattress, 
and  now  lent  his  ear  to  a  colloquy  which  seemed  to  be 
progressing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Presently  he  was 
hailed  by  his  brother  turnkey  from  below. 

"  Oh,  Bill,"  said  fidus  Achates  from  the  passage,  with 
the  usual  Californian  prefatory  ejaculation. 

"Well?" 

"  Here 's  M'liss  !  Says  she  wants  to  come  up.  Shall  I 
let  her  in  ?  " 

The  subject  of  inquiry,  however,  settled  the  question  of 
admission  by  darting  past  the  guard  below  in  this  moment 
of  preoccupation,  and  bounded  up  the  stairs  like  a  young 
fawn.  The  guards  laughed. 

"  Now,   then,   my    infant    phenomenon,"  said    the    one 


292  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

called  Bill,  as  M'liss  stood  panting  before  him,  "  wot 's  up  ? 
and  nextly,  wot  's  in  that  bottle  ?  " 

M'liss  whisked  the  bottle  which  she  held  in  her  hand 
smartly  under  her  apron,  and  said  curtly,  "  Where  's  him 
that  killed  the  parson  ?  " 

"  Yonder,"  replied  the  man,  indicating  the  abstracted 
figure  with  his  hand.  "  Wot  do  you  want  with  him  ? 
None  o'  your  tricks  here,  now,'7  he  added  threateningly. 

"  I  want  to  see  him  !  " 

"  Well,  look  !  make  the  most  of  your  time,  and  his  too, 
for  the  matter  of  that ;  but  mind,  now,  no  nonsense,  M'liss, 
he  won't  stand  it ! "  repeated  the  guard  with  an  emphasis 
in  the  caution. 

M'liss  crossed  the  room,  until  opposite  the  prisoner. 
"  Are  you  the  chap  that  killed  the  parson  ?  "  she  said, 
addressing  the  motionless  figure. 

Something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  startled  the  prisoner 
from  the  reverie.  He  raised  his  head  and  glanced  quickly, 
and  with  his  old  sinister  expression,  at  the  child. 

"  What 's  that  to  you  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  grim  lines  set 
ting  about  his  mouth  again,  and  the  old  harshness  of  his  voice. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  he  would  n't  stand  any  of  your  non 
sense,  M'liss  ?  "  said  the  gaard  testily. 

M'liss  only  repeated  her  question. 

"  And  what  if  I  did  kill  him  ?  "  said  the  prisoner  sav 
agely  ;  "  what 's  that  to  you,  you  young  hell-cat  ?  Guard  I 
—  damnation  !  —  what  do  you  let  her  come  here  for  ?  DC 
you  hear  ?  Guard  !  "  he  screamed,  rising  in  a  transport  of 
passion,  "  take  her  away  !  fling  her  downstairs !  What 
the  h — 11  is  she  doing  here  ?  " 

"  If  you  was  the  man  that  killed  McSnagley,"  said 
M'liss,  without  heeding  the  interruption,  "  I  've  brought 
you  something ;  "  and  she  drew  the  bottle  from  under  her 
apron  and  extended  it  to  Waters,  adding,  "  It 's  brandy  — 
Cognac  —  AL" 


M'LISS  293 

"Take  it  away,  and  take  yourself  with  it,"  returned 
Waters,  without  abating  his  angry  accents.  "  Take  it  away  ! 
do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Well,  that 's  what  I  call  ongrateful,  dog-gone  my  skin 
if  it  ain't,"  said  the  guard,  who  had  been  evidently  struck 
with  M'liss's  generosity.  "  Pass  the  licker  this  way,  my 
beauty,  and  I  '11  keep  it  till  he  changes  his  mind.  He  's 
naturally  a  little  flustered  just  now,  but  he  '11  come  round 
after  you  go." 

But  M'liss  did  n't  accede  to  this  change  in  the  disposition 
of  the  gift,  and  was  evidently  taken  aback  by  her  reception- 
and  the  refusal  of  the  proffered  comfort. 

"  Come,  hand  the  bottle  here  ! "  repeated  the  guard. 
"  It 's  agin  rules  to  bring  the  pris'ner  anything,  anyway, 
and  it 's  confiscated  to  the  law.  It 's  agin  the  rules,  too, 
to  ask  a  pris'ner  any  question  that  '11  criminate  him,  and 
on  the  whole  you  'd  better  go,  M'liss,"  added  the  guard,  to 
whom  the  appearance  of  the  bottle  had  been  the  means  of 
provoking  a  spasm  of  discipline. 

But  M'liss  refused  to  make  over  the  coveted  treasure. 
Bill  arose  half  jestingly  and  endeavored  to  get  possession  of 
the  bottle.  A  struggle  ensued,  good-naturedly  on  the  part 
of  the  guard,  but  characterized  on  the  part  of  M'liss  by  that 
half-savage  passion  which  any  thwarted  whim  or  instinct 
was  sure  to  provoke  in  her  nature.  At  last  with  a  curse 
she  freed  herself  from  his  grasp,  and  seizing  the  bottle  by 
the  neck  aimed  it  with  the  full  strength  of  her  little  arm 
fairly  at  his  head.  But  he  was  quick  enough  to  avert  that 
important  object,  if  not  quick  enough  to  save  his  shoulder 
from  receiving  the  strength  of  the  blow,  which  shattered 
the  thin  glass  and  poured  the  fiery  contents  of  the  bottle 
over  his  shirt  and  breast,  saturating  his  clothes,  and  diffus 
ing  a  sharp  alcoholic  odor  through  the  room. 

A  forced  laugh  broke  from  his  lips,  as  he  sank  back  on 
the  mattress,  not  without  an  underlying  sense  of  awe  at 


294  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

this  savage  girl  who  stood  panting  before  him,  and  from 
whom  he  had  just  escaped  a  blow  which  might  have  been 
fatal.  "  It 's  a  pity  to  waste  so  much  good  licker,"  he 
added,  with  affected  carelessness,  narrowly  watching  each 
movement  of  the  young  pythoness,  whose  rage  was  not  yet 
abated. 

"  Come,  M'liss,"  he  said  at  last,  "  we  '11  say  quits. 
You  've  lost  your  brandy,  and  I  've  got  some  of  the  pieces 
of  yonder  bottle  sticking  in  my  shoulder  yet.  I  sup 
pose  brandy  is  good  for  bruises,  though.  Hand  me  the 
light !  " 

M'liss  reached  the  candle  from  the  sconce  and  held  it  by 
the  guard  as  he  turned  back  the  collar  of  his  shirt  to  lay 
bare  his  shoulder.  "  So,"  he  muttered,  "  black  and  blue  ; 
no  bones  broken,  though  no  fault  of  yours,  eh  ?  my  young 
cherub,  if  it  was  n't.  There  —  why,  what  are  you  looking 
at  in  that  way,  M'liss,  are  you  crazy  ?  —  Hell's  furies,  don't 
hold  the  light  so  near !  What  are  you  doing ;  Hell  — 
ho,  there  !  Help  !  " 

Too  late,  for  in  an  instant  he  was  a  sheet  of  living  flame. 
When  or  how  the  candle  had  touched  his  garments,  satu 
rated  with  the  inflammable  fluid,  Waters,  the  only  inactive 
spectator  in  the  room,  could  never  afterward  tell.  He 
only  knew  that  the  combustion  was  "/nstantaneous  and  com 
plete,  and  before  the  cry  had  died  from  his  lips,  not  only 
the  guard,  but  the  straw  mattress  on  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  and  the  loose  strips  of  paper  hanging  from  the  walls, 
and  the  torn  cloth  ceiling  above  were  in  flames. 

"  Help  !  Help  !     Fire  !   Fire  !  " 

With  a  superhuman  effort,  M'liss  dragged  the  prisoner 
past  the  blazing  mattress,  through  the  doorway  into  the 
passage,  and  drew  the  door,  which  opened  outwardly,  against 
him.  The  unhappy  guard,  still  blazing  like  a  funeral  pyre, 
after  wildly  beating  the  air  with  his  arms  for  a  few  seconds, 
dashed  at  the  broken  window,  which  gave  way  with  hie 


M'LISS  295 

weight,  and  precipitated  him,  still  flaming,  into  the  yard 
below.  A  column  of  smoke  and  a  licking  tongue  of  flame 
leaped  from  the  open  window  at  the  same  moment,  and  the 
cry  of  fire  was  reechoed  from  a  hundred  voices  in  the  street. 
But  scarcely  had  M'liss  closed  the  open  door  against 
Waters,  when  the  guard  from  the  doorway  mounted  the 
stairs  in  time  to  see  a  flaming  figure  leap  from  the  window. 
The  room  was  filled  with  smoke  and  fire.  With  an  instinct 
of  genius,  M'liss,  pointing  to  the  open  window,  shouted 
hoarsely  in  his  ear :  — 

"  Waters  has  escaped  !  " 

A  cry  of  fury  from  the  guard  was  echoed  from  the  stairs, 
even  now  crowded  by  the  excited  mob,  who  feared  the 
devastating  element  might  still  cheat  them  of  their  intended 
victim.  In  another  moment  the  house  was  emptied,  and 
the  front  street  deserted,  as  the  people  rushed  to  the  rear 
of  the  jail  —  climbing  fences  and  stumbling  over  ditches  in 
pursuit  of  the  imagined  runaway.  M'liss  seized  the  hat 
and  coat  of  the  luckless  "  Bill,"  and  dragging  the  prisoner 
from  his  place  of  concealment  hurriedly  equipped  him,  and 
hastened  through  the  blinding  smoke  of  the  staircase  boldly 
on  the  heels  of  the  retiring  crowd.  Once  in  the  friendly 
darkness  of  the  street,  it  was  easy  to  mingle  with  the  push 
ing  throng  until  an  alley  crossing  at  right  angles  enabled 
them  to  leave  the  main  thoroughfare.  A  few  moments' 
rapid  flight,  and  the  outskirts  of  the  town  were  reached, 
the  tall  pines  opened  their  abysmal  aisles  to  the  fugitives. 
and  M'liss  paused  with  her  companion.  Until  daybreak, 
at  least,  here  they  were  safe  ! 

From  the  time  they  had  quitted  the  burning  room  to  that 
moment,  Waters  had  passed  into  his  listless,  abstracted  con 
dition,  so  helpless  and  feeble  that  he  retained  the  grasp  of 
M'liss's  hand  more  through  some  instinctive  prompting  rather 
than  the  dictates  of  reason.  M'liss  had  found  it  necessary 
to  almost  drag  him  from  the  main  street  and  the  hurrying 


296  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

crowd,  which  seemed  to  exercise  a  strange  fascination  over 
his  bewildered  senses.  And  now  he  sat  down  passively 
beside  her,  and  seemed  to  submit  to  the  guidance  of  her 
superior  nature. 

"You're  safe  enough  now  till  daylight,"  said  M'liss, 
when  she  had  recovered  her  breath,  "  but  you  must  make 
the  best  time  you  can  through  these  woods  to-night,  keeping 
the  wind  to  your  back,  until  you  come  to  the  Wingdam 
road.  There  !  do  you  hear  ?  "  said  M'liss,  a  little  vexed  at 
her  companion's  apathy. 

Waters  released  the  hand  of  M'liss,  and  commenced  me 
chanically  to  button  his  coat  around  his  chest  with  fumbling, 
purposeless  fingers.  He  then  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead  as  if  to  clear  his  confused  and  bewildered  brain ; 
all  this,  however,  to  no  better  result  than  to  apparently  root 
his  feet  to  the  soil  and  to  intensify  the  stupefaction  which 
seemed  to  be  creeping  over  him. 

"  Be  quick,  now  !  You  've  no  time  to  lose  !  Keep 
straight  on  through  the  woods  until  you  see  the  stars  again 
before  you,  and  you  're  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge. 
What  are  you  waiting  for?"  And  M'liss  stamped  her 
little  foot  impatiently. 

An  idea  which  had  been  struggling  for  expression  at  last 
seemed  to  dawn  in  his  eyes.  Something  like  a  simpering 
blush  crept  over  his  face  as  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  At 
last,  drawing  forth  a  twenty-dollar  piece,  he  bashfully 
offered  it  to  M'liss.  In  a  twinkling  the  extended  arm  was 
stricken  up,  and  the  bright  coin  flew  high  in  the  air,  and 
disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"  Keep  your  money  !  I  don't  want  it.  Don't  do  that 
again  !  "  said  M'liss,  highly  excited,  "or  I '11  —  I '11  —  bite 
you  !  " 

Her  wicked  little  white  teeth  flashed  ominously  as  she 
said  it. 

"  Get  off  while  you  can.     Look  !  "  she  added,  pointing  to 


M'LISS  297 

a  column  of  flame  shooting  up  above  the  straggling  mass  of 
buildings  in  the  village,  "  the  jail  is  burning  ;  and  if  that 
goes,  the  block  will  go  with  it.  Before  morning  these  woods 
will  be  filled  with  people.  Save  yourself  while  you  can  ! " 

Waters  turned  and  moved  away  in  the  darkness.  "  Keep 
straight  on,  and  don't  waste  a  moment,"  urged  the  child,  as 
the  man  seemed  still  disposed  to  linger.  "  Trot  now  !  "  and 
in  another  moment  he  seemed  to  melt  into  the  forest 
depths. 

M'liss  threw  her  apron  around  her  head,  and  coiled  her 
self  up  at  the  root  of  a  tree  in  something  of  her  old  fashion. 
She  had  prophesied  truly  of  the  probable  extent  of  the  fire. 
The  fresh  wind,  whirling  the  sparks  over  the  little  settle 
ment,  had  already  fanned  the  single  flame  into  the  broad 
sheet  which  now  glowed  fiercely,  defining  the  main  street 
along  its  entire  length.  The  breeze  which  fanned  her  cheek 
bore  the  crash  of  falling  timbers  and  the  shouts  of  terrified 
and  anxious  men.  There  were  no  engines  in  Smith's  Pocket, 
and  the  contest  was  unequal.  Nothing  but  a  change  of 
wind  could  save  the  doomed  settlement. 

The  red  glow  lit  up  the  dark  cheek  of  M'liss  and  kindled 
a  savage  light  in  her  black  eyes.  Relieved  by  the  back 
ground  of  the  sombre  woods,  she  might  have  been  a  red- 
handed  Nemesis  looking  over  the  city  of  Vengeance.  As 
the  long  tongues  of  flame  licked  the  broad  colonnade  of  the 
National  Hotel,  and  shot  a  wreathing  pillar  of  fire  and  smoke 
high  into  the  air,  M'liss  extended  her  tiny  fist  and  shook  it 
at  the  burning  building  with  an  inspiration  that  at  the 
moment  seemed  to  transfigure  her. 

So  the  night  wore  away  until  the  first  red  bars  of  morn 
ing  light  gleamed  beyond  the  hill,  and  seemed  to  emulate 
the  dying  embers  of  the  devastated  settlement.  M'liss  for 
the  first  time  began  to  think  of  the  home  she  had  quitted 
the  night  before,  and  looked  with  some  anxiety  in  the  direc 
tion  of  "  Mountain  Ranch."  Its  white  walls  and  little 


298  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

orchard  were  untouched,  and  looked  peacefully  over  the 
blackened  and  deserted  village.  M'liss  rose,  and,  stretching 
her  cramped  limbs,  walked  briskly  toward  the  town.  She 
had  proceeded  but  a  short  distance  when  she  heard  the 
sound  of  cautious  and  hesitating  footsteps  behind  her,  and, 
facing  quickly  about,  encountered  the  figure  of  Waters. 

"  Are  you  drunk  ?  "  said  M'liss  passionately,  "  or  what 
do  you  mean  by  this  nonsense  ?  " 

The  man  approached  her  with  a  strange  smile  on  his 
face,  rubbing  his  hands  together,  and  shivering  as  with 
cold.  When  he  had  reached  her  side  he  attempted  to  take 
her  hand.  M'liss  shrank  away  from  him  with  an  expres 
sion  of  disgust. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  again  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"I  want  to  go  with  you.  It's  dark  in  there,"  he  said, 
motioning  to  the  wood  he  had  just  quitted,  "  and  I  don't 
like  to  be  alone.  You  '11  let  me  be  with  you,  won't  you  ? 
I  won't  be  any  trouble ;  "  and  a  feeble  smile  flickered  on 
his  lips. 

M'liss  darted  a  quick  look  into  his  face.  The  grim  out 
lines  of  his  mouth  were  relaxed,  and  his  lips  moved  again 
impotently.  But  his  eyes  were  bright  and  open,  —  bright 
with  a  look  that  was  new  to  M'liss  —  that  imparted  a 
strange  softness  and  melancholy  to  his  features,  —  the  ir-cip- 
lent  gleam  of  insanity  ! 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  AUTHOR  TO  THE  READER— EXPLANATORY 

If  I  remember  rightly,  in  one  of  the  admirable  tragedies 
of  Tsien  Tsiang  at  a  certain  culminating  point  of  interest 
an  innocent  person  is  about  to  be  sacrificed.  The  knife  is 
raised  and  the  victim  meekly  awaits  the  stroke.  At  this 
moment  the  author  of  the  play  appears  on  the  stage,  and, 


M'LISS  299 

delivering  an  excellent  philosophical  dissertation  on  the 
merits  of  the  "  situation,"  shows  that  by  the  purest  princi 
ples  of  art  the  sacrifice  is  necessary,  but  at  the  same  time 
offers  to  the  audience  the  privilege  of  changing  the  de 
nouement.  Such,  however,  is  the  nice  aesthetic  sense  of  a 
Chinese  auditory,  and  so  universal  the  desire  of  bloodshed 
in  the  heathen  breast,  that  invariably  at  each  representa 
tion  of  this  remarkable  tragedy  the  cause  of  humanity  gives 
way  to  the  principles  of  art. 

I  offer  this  precedent  as  an  excuse  for  digressing  at  a 
moment  when  I  have  burned  down  a  small  settlement, 
dispatched  a  fellow  being,  and  left  my  heroine  alone  in  the 
company  of  an  escaped  convict  who  has  just  developed 
insanity  as  a  new  social  quality.  My  object  in  thus  digress 
ing  is  to  confer  with  the  reader  in  regard  to  the  evolution 
of  this  story,  —  a  familiarity  not  without  precedent,  as  I 
might  prove  from  most  of  the  old  Greek  comedies,  whose 
parabasis  permits  the  poet  to  mingle  freely  with  the  dra 
matis  personce,  to  address  the  audience  and  descant  at 
length  in  regard  to  himself,  his  play,  and  his  own  merits. 

The  fact  is  that,  during  the  progress  of  this  story,  I 
have  received  many  suggestions  from  intimate  friends  in 
regard  to  its  incidents  and  construction.  I  have  also  been 
in  the  receipt  of  correspondence  from  distant  readers,  one 
letter  of  which  I  recall  signed  by  an  "  Honest  Miner," 
who  advises  me  to  "  do  the  right  thing  by  M'liss,"  or  in 
timates  somewhat  obscurely  that  he  will  "  bust  my  crust 
for  me,"  which,  though  complimentary  in  its  abstract 
expression  of  interest,  and  implying  a  taste  for  euphonism, 
evinces  an  innate  coarseness  which  I  fear  may  blunt  his 
perceptions  of  delicate  shades  and  Greek  outlines. 

Again,  the  practical  nature  of  Calif ornians  and  their 
familiarity  with  scenes  and  incidents  which  would  be  novel 
to  other  people  have  occasioned  me  great  uneasiness.  In 
the  course  of  the  last  three  chapters  of  M'liss  I  have  re- 


300  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

ceived  some  twenty  or  thirty  communications  from  different 
parts  of  the  State  corroborating  incidents  of  my  story, 
which  I  solemnly  assure  the  reader  is  purely  fictitious. 
Some  one  has  lately  sent  me  a  copy  of  an  interior  paper 
containing  an  old  obituary  of  Smith  of  Smith's  Pocket. 
Another  correspondent  writes  to  me  that  he  was  acquainted 
with  the  schoolmaster  in  the  fall  of  '49,  and  that  they 
"  grubbed  together."  The  editors  of  the  serial  in  which 
this  story  appears  assure  me  that  they  have  received  an 
advertisement  from  the  landlord  of  the  "  National  Hotel " 
contingent  upon  an  editorial  notice  of  its  having  been  at 
one  time  the  abode  of  M'liss ;  while  an  aunt  of  the  heroine, 
alluding  in  excellent  terms  to  the  reformed  character  of 
her  niece  M'liss,  clenches  her  sincerity  by  requesting  the 
loan  of  twenty  dollars  to  buy  clothes  for  the  desolate 
orphan. 

Under  these  circumstances  I  have  hesitated  to  go  on. 
What  were  the  bodiless  creatures  of  my  fancy  —  the  pale 
"•"••phantoms  of  thought,  evoked  in  the  solitude  of  my  chamber, 
and  sometimes  even  midst  the  hum  of  busy  streets  —  have 
suddenly  grown  into  flesh  and  blood,  living  people,  pro 
tected  by  the  laws  of  society,  and  having  their  legal  right 
to  actions  for  slander  in  any  court.  Worse  than  that,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  with  terror  of  the  new  responsibility 
which  might  attach  to  my  development  of  their  characters. 
What  if  I  were  obliged  to  support  and  protect  these  Frank 
enstein  monsters  ?  What  if  the  original  of  the  principal 
villain  of  my  story  should  feel  impelled  through  aesthetic 
principles  of  art  to  work  out  in  real  life  the  supposititious 
denouement  I  have  sketched  for  him  ? 

I  have  therefore  concluded  to  lay  aside  my  pen  for  thie 
week,  leaving  the  catastrophe  impending,  and  await  the  sug 
gestion  of  my  correspondents.  I  do  so  the  more  cheerfully 
as  it  enables  the  editors  of  this  weekly  to  publish  twenty- 
seven  more  columns  of  Miss  Braddon's  "  Outcasts  of  So- 


M'LISS  301 

ciety  "  and  the  remainder  of  the  "  Duke's  Motto,"  —  two 
works  which  in  the  quiet  simplicity  of  their  home-like  pic 
tures  and  household  incidents  are  attended  with  none  of  the 
difficulties  which  beset  my  unhappy  story. 

CHAPTER   IX 

CLEANING    UP 

As  the  master,  wan-eyed  and  unrefreshed  by  slumber, 
strayed  the  next  morning  among  the  blackened  ruins  of  the 
Are,  he  was  conscious  of  having  undergone  some  strange 
revulsion  of  sentiment.  What  he  remembered  of  the  last 
evening's  events,  though  feverish  and  indistinct  as  a  dream, 
and  though,  like  a  dream,  without  coherency  or  connected 
outline,  had  nevertheless  seriously  impressed  him.  How 
frivolous  and  trifling  his  past  life  and  its  pursuits  looked 
through  the  lightning  vista  opened  to  his  eyes  by  the  flash 
of  Waters's  pistol !  "  Suppose  I  had  been  killed,"  rumi 
nated  the  master,  "  what  then  ?  A  paragraph  in  the 
*  Banner,'  headed  '  Fatal  Affray/  and  my  name  added  to 
the  already  swollen  list  of  victims  to  lawless  violence  and 
crime !  Humph  !  A  pretty  scrape,  truly  !  "  And  the 
master  ground  his  teeth  with  vexation. 

Let  not  the  reader  judge  him  too  hastily.  In  the  best 
regulated  mind,  thankfulness  for  deliverance  from  danger  is 
apt  to  be  mingled  with  some  doubts  as  to  the  necessity  of 
the  trial. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  the  last  person  he  would  have 
cared  to  meet  was  Clytie.  That  young  woman's  evil 
genius,  however,  led  her  to  pass  the  burnt  district  that 
morning.  Perhaps  she  had  anticipated  the  meeting.  At 
all  events,  he  had  proceeded  but  a  few  steps  before  he  was 
confronted  by  the  identical  round  hat  and  cherry  colored 
ribbons.  But  in  his  present  humor  the  cheerful  color 


302  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

somehow  reminded  him  of  the  fire  and  of  a  ruddy  stain 
over  McSnagley's  heart,  and  invested  the  innocent  Clytie 
with  a  figurative  significance.  Now  Clytie's  reveries  at 
that  moment  were  pleasant,  if  the  brightness  of  her  eyes 
and  the  freshened  color  on  her  cheeks  were  any  sign,  and, 
as  she  had  not  seen  the  master  since  then,  she  naturally  ex 
pected  to  take  up  the  thread  of  romance  where  it  had  been 
dropped.  But  it  required  all  her  feminine  tact  to  conceal 
her  embarrassment  at  his  formal  greeting  and  constrained 
manner. 

"  He  is  bashful/'  reasoned  Clytie  to  herself. 

"This  girl  is  a  tremendous  fool,"  growled  the  master 
inwardly. 

An  awkward  pause  ensued.     Finally,  Clytie  loquitur  :  — 

"  M'liss  has  been  missing  since  the  fire  !  " 

"  Missing  ?  "  echoed  the  master  in  his  natural  tone. 

Clytie  bit  her  lip  with  vexation.  "  Yes,  she  's  always 
running  away.  She'll  be  back  again.  But  you  look 
interested.  Do  you  know,"  she  continued  with  exceeding 
archness,  "  I  sometimes  think,  Mr.  Gray,  if  M'liss  were  a 
little  older  "  — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  putting  this  and  that  together,  you  know  !  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  People  will  talk,  you  know,"  continued  Clytie,  with 
that  excessive  fondness  weak  people  exhibit  in  enveloping 
in  mystery  the  commonest  affairs  of  life. 

"  People  are  d — d  fools  !  "  roared  the  master. 

The  correct  Clytie  was  a  little  shocked.  Perhaps  under 
neath  it  was  a  secret  admiration  of  the  transgressor.  Force 
even  of  this  cheap  quality  goes  a  good  way  with  some 
natures. 

"  That  is,"  continued  the  master,  with  an  increase  of 
dignity  in  inverse  proportion  to  the  lapse  he  had  made, 
"  people  are  apt  to  be  mistaken,  Miss  Morpher,  and  without 


M'LISS  303 

meaning  it,  to  do  infinite  injustice  to  their  fellow  mortals. 
But  1  see  I  am  detaining  you.  I  will  try  and  find  Melissa. 
I  wish  you  good-morning."  And  Don  Whiskerandos  stalked 
(solemnly  away. 

Clytie  turned  red  and  white  by  turns,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  This  denouement  to  her  dreams  was  utterly 
unexpected.  While  a  girl  of  stronger  character  and  active 
intelligence  would  have  employed  the  time  in  digesting 
plans  of  future  retaliation  and  revenge,  Clytie's  dull  brain 
and  placid  nature  were  utterly  perplexed  and  shaken. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Clytie  to  herself,  as  she  started  home, 
"if  he  don't  love  me,  why  don't  he  say  so  ?  " 

The  master,  or  Mr.  Gray,  as  we  may  now  call  him  as  he 
draws  near  the  close  of  his  professional  career,  took  the  old 
trail  through  the  forest,  which  led  to  M'liss's  former  hiding- 
place.  He  walked  on  briskly,  revolving  in  his  mind  the 
feasibility  of  leaving  Smith's  Pocket.  The  late  disaster, 
which  would  affect  the  prosperity  of  the  settlement  for 
some  time  to  come,  offered  an  excuse  to  him  to  give  up  his 
situation.  On  searching  his  pockets  he  found  his  present 
capital  to  amount  to  ten  dollars.  This  increased  by  forty 
dollars,  due  him  from  the  trustees,  would  make  fifty  dollars  ; 
deduct  thirty  dollars  for  liabilities,  and  he  would  have  twenty 
dollars  left  to  begin  the  world  anew.  Youth  and  hope  added 
an  indefinite  number  of  ciphers  to  the  right  hand  of  these 
figures,  and  in  this  sanguine  mood  our  young  Alnaschar 
walked  on  until  he  had  reached  the  old  pine  throne  in  the 
bank  of  the  forest.  M'liss  was  not  there.  He  sat  down 
on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  for  a  few  moments  gave  him 
self  up  to  the  associations  it  suggested.  What  would  be 
come  of  M'liss  after  he  was  gone  ?  But  he  quickly  dropped 
the  subject  as  one  too  visionary  and  sentimental  for  his 
then  fiercely  practical  consideration,  and,  to  prevent  the 
recurrence  of  such  distracting  fancies,  began  to  retrace  his 
steps  toward  the  settlement.  At  the  edge  of  the  woods^ 


804  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

at  a  point  where  the  trail  forked  toward  the  old  site  of 
Smith's  Pocket,  he  saw  M'liss  coming  toward  him.  Her 
ordinary  pace  on  such  occasions  was  a  kind  of  Indian  trot ; 
to  his  surprise  she  was  walking  slowly,  with  her  apron 
thrown  over  her  head,  —  an  indication  of  meditation  with 
M'liss  and  the  usual  way  in  which  she  excluded  the  outer 
world  in  studying  her  lessons.  When  she  was  within  a 
few  feet  of  him  he  called  her  by  name.  She  started  as 
she  recognized  him.  There  was  a  shade  of  seriousness  in 
her  dark  eyes,  and  the  hand  that  took  his  was  listless  and 
totally  unlike  her  old  frank,  energetic  grasp. 

"  You  look  worried,  M'liss,"  said  Mr.  Gray  soothingly,  as 
the  old  sentimental  feeling  crept  over  his  heart.  "  What 's 
the  matter  now  ?  " 

M'liss  replied  by  seating  herself  on  the  bank  beside 
the  road,  and  pointed  to  a  place  by  her  side.  Mr.  Gray 
took  the  proffered  seat.  M'liss  then,  fixing  her  eyes  on 
some  distant  part  of  the  view,  remained  for  some  moments 
in  silence.  Then,  without  turning  her  head  or  moving  her 
eyes,  she  asked  :  — 

"What's  that  they  call  a  girl  that  has  money  left 
her  ?  » 

"An  heiress,  M'liss?" 

"  Yes,  an  heiress." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gray. 

"  Well,"  said  M'liss,  without  moving  her  eyes,  "  I  'm 
one,  —  I  'm  a  heiress  !  " 

"  What 's  that,  M'liss  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gray  laughingly. 

M'liss  was  silent  again.  Suddenly  turning  her  eyes  full 
upon  him,  she  said :  — 

"  Can  JOM  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  beginning  to  be  impressed  by  the 
child's  manner. 

"  Listen,  then." 

In  short  quick  sentences,  M'liss  began.     How  Aristides 


M'LISS  305 

had  several  times  hinted  of  the  concealed  riches  of  Smith's 
Pocket.  How  he  had  last  night  repeated  the  story  to  her 
of  a  strange  discovery  he  had  made.  How  she  remembered 
to  have  heard  her  father  often  swear  that  there  was  money 
"  in  that  hole/7  if  he  only  had  means  to  work  it.  How, 
partly  impressed  by  this  statement  and  partly  from  curios 
ity  and  pity  for  the  prisoner,  she  had  visited  him  in  con 
finement.  An  account  of  her  interview,  the  origin  of  the 
fire,  her  flight  with  Waters.  (Questions  by  Mr.  Gray : 
What  was  your  object  in  assisting  this  man  to  escape  ?  Ans. 
They  were  going  to  kill  him.  Ques.  Had  n't  he  killed  Mc- 
Snagley.  Ans.  Yes,  but  McSnagley  ought  to  have  been 
killed  long  ago.)  How  she  had  taken  leave  of  him  that 
morning.  How  he  had  come  back  again  "  silly."  How  she 
had  dragged  him  on  toward  the  Wingdam  road,  and  how  he 
had  told  her  that  all  the  hidden  wealth  of  Smith's  Pocket 
had  belonged  to  her  father.  How  she  had  found  out,  from 
some  questions,  that  he  had  known  her  father.  But  how 
all  his  other  answers  were  "  silly." 

"  And  where  is  he  now  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gray. 

"  Gone,"  said  M'liss.  "  I  left  him  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  to  go  back  and  get  some  provisions,  and  when  I  re 
turned  he  was  gone.  If  he  had  any  senses  left,  he  ?s  miles 
away  by  this  time.  When  he  was  off  I  went  back  to  Smith's 
Pocket.  I  found  the  hidden  opening  and  saw  the  gold." 

Mr.  Gray  looked  at  her  curiously.      He  had,  in  his  more 
intimate  knowledge  of  her  character,  noticed  the  unconcern 
with  which  she  spoke  of  the  circumstances  of  her  father's 
death  and  the  total  lack  of  any  sentiment  of  filial  regarr1 
The  idea  that  this  man  whom  she  had  aided  in  escaph\ 
had  ever  done  her  injury  had  not  apparently  entered  her 
mind,   nor   did   Mr.    Gray   think  it   necessary   to  hint  the 
deeper  suspicion  he  had  gathered  from  Dr.  Duchesne  that 
Waters  had  murdered  her  father.      If  the  story  of  the  con 
cealed   treasures   of   Smith's   Pocket   were   exaggerated   he 


306  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

could  easily  satisfy  himself  on  that  point.  M'liss  met  his 
suggestion  to  return  to  the  Pocket  with  alacrity,  and  the 
two  started  away  in  that  direction. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mr.  Gray  returned. 
His  heightened  color  and  eager  inquiry  for  Dr.  Duchesne 
provoked  the  usual  hope  from  the  people  that  he  met 
"  that  it  was  nothing  serious."  No,  nothing  was  the  mat 
ter,  the  master  answered  with  a  slight  laugh,  but  would 
they  send  the  doctor  to  his  schoolhouse  when  he  returned  ? 
"  That  young  chap  's  worse  than  he  thinks,"  was  one  sym 
pathizing  suggestion  ;  "  this  kind  of  life  's  too  rough  for  his 
sort." 

To  while  away  the  interim,  Mr.  Gray  stopped  on  his  way 
to  the  schoolhouse  at  the  stage  office  as  the  Wingdam  stage 
drew  up  and  disgorged  its  passengers.  He  was  listlessly 
watching  the  passengers  as  they  descended  when  a  soft  voice 
from  the  window  addressed  him,  "  May  I  trouble  you  for 
your  arm  as  I  get  down  ?  "  Mr.  Gray  looked  up.  It  was 
a  singular  request,  as  the  driver  was  at  that  moment  stand 
ing  by  the  door,  apparently  for  that  purpose.  But  the 
request  came  from  a  handsome  woman,  and  with  a  bow  the 
young  man  stepped  to  the  door.  The  lady  laid  her  hand 
lightly  on  his  arm,  sprang  from  the  stage  with  a  dexterity 
that  showed  the  service  to  have  been  merely  ceremonious, 
thanked  him  with  an  elaboration  of  acknowledgment  which 
seemed  equally  gratuitous,  and  disappeared  in  the  office. 

" That's  what  I  call  a  dead  set,"  said  the  driver,  draw 
ing  a  long  breath,  as  he  turned  to  Mr.  Gray,  who  stood  in 
some  embarrassment.  "  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Gray  laughingly,  "  do  you  ?  " 

"  Nary  time  !  But  take  care  of  yourself,  young  man ; 
she  's  after  you,  sure  !  " 

But  Mr.  Gray  was  continuing  his  walk  to  the  school- 
house,  unmindful  of  the  caution.  For  the  momentary 
glimpse  he  had  caught  of  this  woman's  face,  she  appeared 


M'LISS  307 

to  be  about  thirty.  Her  dress,  though  tasteful  and  elegant, 
in  the  present  condition  of  California  society  afforded  no 
criterion  of  her  social  status.  But  the  figure  of  Dr.  Du- 
chesne  waiting  for  him  at  the  schoolhouse  door  just  then 
usurped  the  place  of  all  others,  and  she  dropped  out  of  his 
mind. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  doctor,  as  the  young  man  grasped 
his  hand,  "you  want  me  to  tell  you  why  your  eyes  are 
bloodshot,  why  your  cheeks  burn,  and  your  hand  is  dry 
and  hot  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  !  Perhaps  you  '11  understand  the  symp 
toms  better  when  you  7ve  heard  my  story.  Sit  down  here 
and  listen." 

The  doctor  took  the  proffered  seat  on  top  of  a  desk,  and 
Mr.  Gray,  after  assuring  himself  that  they  were  entirely 
alone,  related  the  circumstances  he  had  gathered  from 
M'liss  that  morning. 

"  You  see,  doctor,  how  unjust  were  your  surmises  in 
regard  to  this  girl,"  continued  Mr.  Gray.  "  But  let  that 
pass  now.  At  the  conclusion  of  her  story,  I  offered  to  go 
with  her  to  this  AH  Baba  cave.  It  was  no  easy  job  find 
ing  the  concealed  entrance,  but  I  found  it  at  last,  and 
ample  corroboration  of  every  item  of  this  wild  story.  The 
pocket  is  rich  with  the  most  valuable  ore.  It  has  evp 
dently  been  worked  for  some  time  since  the  discovery  was 
made,  but  there  is  still  a  fortune  in  its  walls,  and  several 
thousand  dollars  of  ore  sacked  up  in  its  galleries.  Look  at 
that !  "  continued  Mr.  Gray,  as  he  drew  an  oblong  mass  of 
quartz  and  metal  from  his  pocket.  "  Think  of  a  secret  of 
this  kind  having  been  intrusted  for  three  weeks  to  a  pen 
niless  orphan  girl  of  twelve  and  an  eccentric  schoolboy 
of  ten,  and  undivulged  except  when  a  proper  occasion 
offered." 

Dr.  Duchesne  smiled.      "  And  Waters  is  really  clear  ?  " 

«  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gray. 


808  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

"  And  M'liss  assisted  him  to  escape  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  are  an  innocent  one  !  And  you  see  nothing 
ifi  this  but  an  act  of  thoughtless  generosity  ?  No  assisting 
of  an  old  accomplice  to  escape  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  but  truth  in  her  statement,"  returned  Mr. 
Gray  stoutly.  "  If  there  has  been  any  wrong  committed, 
I  believe  her  to  be  innocent  of  its  knowledge." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  at  least  the  money  goes  to  her  and  not 
to  him.  But  how  are  you  to  establish  her  right  to  this 
property  ?  " 

"  That  was  my  object  in  conferring  with  you.  At  present 
the  claim  is  abandoned.  I  have  taken  up  the  ground  in 
my  own  name  (for  her),  and  this  afternoon  I  posted  up  the 
usual  notice." 

"  Go  on.      You  are  not  so  much  of  a  fool,  after  all." 

"  Thank  you  !  This  will  hold  until  a  better  claim  is 
established.  Now,  if  Smith  had  discovered  this  lead,  and 
was,  as  the  lawyers  say,  '  seized  and  possessed '  of  it  at  the 
time  of  his  death,  M'liss,  of  course,  as  next  of  kin,  inherits 
it." 

"  But  how  can  this  be  pvoved  ?  It  is  the  general  belief 
that  Smith  committed  suicide  through  extreme  poverty  and 
destitution." 

Mr.  Gray  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"  You  remember  the  memorandum  I  showed  you,  which 
came  into  my  possession.  Here  it  is  ;  it  is  dated  the  day 
of  his  death." 

Dr.  Duchesne  took  it  and  read  :  — 

"  July  17th.  Five  hours  in  drift  —  dipping  west. 
Took  out  20  oz.  —  cleaned  up  40  oz.  —  Mem.  Saw  M.  S." 

"  This  evidently  refers  to  actual  labor  in  the  mine  at  the 
time,"  said  Dr.  Duchesne.  "  But  is  it  legally  sufficient  to 
support  a  claim  of  this  magnitude  ?  That  is  the  only  ques 
tion  now.  You  say  this  paper  was  the  leaf  of  an  old  mem- 


M'LISS  809 

orandum,  torn  off  and  used  for  a  letter  by  M'liss;  do  you 
know  where  the  orignal  book  can  be  found  ?  " 

"  Aristides  has  it,  or  knows  where  it  is,"  answered  Mr. 
Gray. 

"  Find  it  by  all  means.  And  get  legal  advice  before  you 
do  anything.  Go  this  very  evening  to  Judge  Plunkett  and 
state  your  case  to  him.  The  promise  of  a  handsome  con 
tingent  fee  won't  hurt  M'liss's  prospects  any.  Remember, 
our  ideas  of  abstract  justice  and  the  letter  of  the  law  in 
this  case  may  be  entirely  different.  Take  Judge  Plunkett 
your  proofs ;  that  is,"  said  the  Doctor,  stopping  and  eye 
ing  his  friend  keenly,  "if  you  have  no  fears  for  M'liss  if 
this  matter  should  be  thoroughly  ventilated." 

Mr.  Gray  did  not  falter. 

"  I  go  at  once,"  said  he  gayly,  "  if  only  to  prove  the 
child's  claim  to  a  good  name  if  we  fail  in  getting  her 
property." 

The  two  men  left  the  schoolhouse  together.  As  they 
reached  the  main  street,  the  doctor  paused  :  — 

"  You  are  still  determined  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  responded  the  young  man. 

"  Good-night,  and  God  speed  you,  then,"  and  the  doctor 
left  him. 

The  fire  had  been  particularly  severe  on  the  legal  frater 
nity  in  the  settlement,  and  Judge  Plunkett's  office,  together 
with  those  of  his  learned  brethren,  had  been  consumed  with 
the  courthouse  on  the  previous  night.  The  judge's 
house  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  thither  Mr. 
Gray  proceeded.  The  judge  was  at  home,  but  engaged  at 
that  moment.  Mr.  Gray  would  wait.,  and  was  ushered  into 
a  small  room  evidently  used  as  a  kitchen,  but  just  then 
littered  with  law  books,  bundles  of  papers,  and  blanks  that 
had  been  hastily  rescued  from  the  burning  building.  The 
sideboard  groaned  with  the  weight  of  several  volumes  of 
New  York  Reports,  that  seemed  to  impart  a  dusty  flavor 


310  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

to  the  adjoining  victual.  Mr.  Gray  picked  up  a  volume  of 
supreme  court  decisions  from  the  coal-scuttle,  and  was 
deep  in  an  interesting  case,  when  the  door  of  the  adjoining 
room  opened  and  Judge  Plunkett  appeared. 

He  was  an  oily  man  of  about  fifty,  with  spectacles.  He 
was  glad  to  see  the  schoolmaster.  He  hoped  he  was  not 
suffering  from  the  excitement  of  the  previous  evening.  For 
his  part,  the  spectacle  of  sober  citizens  rising  in  a  body  to 
vindicate  the  insulted  majesty  of  the  laws  of  society,  and 
of  man,  had  always  something  sublime  in  it.  And  the 
murderer  had  really  got  away  after  all.  And  it  was  a  nar 
row  escape  the  schoolmaster  had,  too,  at  Smith's  Pocket. 

Mr.  Gray  took  advantage  of  the  digression  to  state  his 
business.  He  briefly  recounted  the  circumstances  of  the 
discovery  of  the  hidden  wealth  of  Smith's  Pocket,  and 
exhibited  the  memorandum  he  had  shown  the  doctor. 
When  he  had  concluded,  Judge  Plunkett  looked  at  him  over 
his  spectacles,  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction. 

"  You  apprehend,"  said  the  judge  eagerly,  "  that  you 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  procuring  this  book  from  which 
the  leaf  was  originally  torn  ?  " 

"  None,"  replied  Mr.  Gray. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  should  give  as  my  professional  opinion 
that  the  case  was  already  won." 

Mr.  Gray  shook  the  hand  of  the  little  man  with  great 
fervor,  and  thanked  him  for  his  belief.  "  And  so  this  prop 
erty  will  go  entirely  to  M'liss  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"Well — ah  —  no  —  not  exactly,"  said  Judge  Plunkett, 
with  some  caution.  "  She  will  benefit  by  it  undoubtedly 
—  undoubtedly,"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  again. 

"  Why  not  M'liss  alone  ?  There  are  no  other  claim 
ants  !  "  said  Mr.  Gray. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  —  you  mistake,"  said  Judge  Plun 
kett,  with  a  smile.  "  You  surely  would  not  leave  out  the 
widow  and  mother  ?  " 


M'LISS  311 

"  Why,  M'liss  is  an  orphan,"  said  Mr.  Gray  in  utter  be 
wilderment. 

"  A  sad  mistake,  sir,  —  a  painful  though  natural  mis 
take.  Mr.  Smith,  though  separated  from  his  wife,  was 
never  divorced.  A  very  affecting  history  —  the  old  story, 
you  know  —  an  injured  and  loving  woman  deserted  by  her 
natural  protector,  but  disdaining  to  avail  herself  of  our 
legal  aid.  By  a  singular  coincidence  that  I  should  have 
told  you,  I  am  anticipating  you  in  this  very  case.  Your 
services,  however,  I  feel  will  be  invaluable.  Your  concern 
for  her  amiable  and  interesting  daughter  Narcissa  —  ah,  no, 
Melissa  —  will,  of  course,  make  you  with  us.  You  have 
never  seen  Mrs.  Smith  ?  A  fine-looking,  noble  woman, 
sir,  —  though  still  disconsolate,  —  still  thinking  of  the  de 
parted  one.  By  another  singular  coincidence  that  I  should 
have  told  you,  she  is  here  now.  You  shall  see  her,  sir. 
Pray,  let  me  introduce  you  ;  "  and  still  rubbing  his  hands, 
Judge  Plunkett  led  the  way  to  the  adjoining  room. 

Mr.  Gray  followed  him  mechanically.  A  handsome 
woman  rose  from  the  sofa  as  they  entered.  It  was  the 
woman  he  assisted  to  alight  from  the  Wingdam  stage. 

CHAPTER  X 

THE  RED  ROCK 

In  the  strong  light  that  fell  upon  her  face,  Mr.  Gray 
had  an  opportunity  to  examine  her  features  more  closely. 
Her  eyes,  which  were  dark  and  singularly  brilliant,  were 
half  closed,  either  from  some  peculiar  conformation  of  the 
lids,  or  an  habitual  effort  to  conceal  expression.  Her  skin 
was  colorless  with  that  satin-like  lustre  that  belongs  to 
some  brunettes,  relieved  by  one  or  two  freckles  that  were 
scarcely  blemishes.  Her  face  was  squared  a  little  at  the 
lower  angles,  but  the  chin  was  round  and  soft,  and  the 


312  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

curves  about  the  mouth  were  full  and  tender  enough  to 
destroy  the  impression  left  by  contemplation  of  those  rigid 
outlines.  The  effect  of  its  general  contour  was  that  of  a 
handsome  woman  of  thirty.  In  detail,  as  the  eye  dwelt 
upon  any  particular  feature,  you  could  have  added  a  margin 
of  ten  years  either  way. 

"  Mrs.  Smith  —  Mr.  Gray,"  said  the  lawyer  briskly. 
"  Mr.  Gray  is  the  gentleman  who,  since  the  decease  of 
your  husband,  has  taken  such  a  benevolent  interest  in  our 
playful  Narcissa —  Melissa,  I  should  say.  He  is  the  pre 
ceptor  of  our  district  school,  and  beside  his  relation  as 
teacher  to  your  daughter  has,  I  may  say  in  our  legal  fash 
ion,  stood  in  loco  par entis  —  in  other  words,  has  been  a 
parent,  a  —  a  —  father  to  her." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  Mrs.  Smith  darted  a 
quick  glance  at  Mr.  Gray,  which  was  unintelligible  to  any 
but  a  woman.  As  there  were  none  of  her  own  keen-witted 
sex  present  to  make  an  ungracious  interpretation  of  it,  it 
passed  unnoticed,  except  the  slight  embarrassment  and  con 
fusion  it  caused  the  young  man  from  its  apparent  gratuity. 

"  We  have  met  before,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  with 
her  bright  eyes  half  hid  and  her  white  teeth  half  disclosed. 
"  I  can  easily  imagine  Mr.  Gray's  devotion  to  a  friend  from 
his  courtesy  to  a  stranger.  Let  me  thank  you  again  for 
both  my  daughter  and  myself." 

In  the  desperate  hope  of  saying  something  natural,  Mr. 
Gray  asked  if  she  had  seen  Melissa  yet. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  Think  how  provoking  !  Judge  Plun- 
kett  says  it  is  absolutely  impossible  till  some  tiresome  for 
malities  are  over.  There  are  so  many  stupid  forms  to  go 
through  with  first.  But  how  is  she  ?  You  have  seen  her, 
have  you  not  ?  you  will  see  her  again  to-night,  perhaps  ? 
How  I  long  to  embrace  her  again  !  She  was  a  mere  baby 
when  she  left  me.  Tell  her  how  I  long  to  fly  to  her." 

Her   impassioned    utterance  and    the    dramatic  gestures 


M'LISS  813 

that  accompanied  these  words  afforded  a  singular  contrast 
to  the  cool  way  with  which  she  rearranged  the  folds  of  her 
dress  when  she  had  finished,  folding  her  hands  over  her 
!ap  and  settling  herself  unmistakably  back  again  on  the 
sofa.  Perhaps  it  was  this  that  made  Mr.  Gray  think  she 
had,  at  some  time,  been  an  actress.  But  the  next  moment 
he  caught  her  eye  again  and  felt  pleased,  — and  again  vexed 
with  himself  for  being  so,  —  and  in  this  mental  condition 
began  to  speak  in  favor  of  his  old  pupil.  His  embarrass 
ment  passed  away  as  he  warmed  with  his  subject,  dwelling 
at  length  on  M'liss's  better  qualities,  and  did  not  return  un 
til  in  a  breathless  pause  he  became  aware  that  this  woman's 
bright  eyes  were  bent  upon  him.  The  color  rose  in  his 
cheek,  and  with  a  half-muttered  apology  for  his  prolixity 
he  offered  his  excuses  to  retire. 

"  Stay  a  moment,  Mr.  Gray/'  said  the  lawyer.  "  You 
are  going  to  town,  and  will  not  think  it  a  trouble  to  see 
Mrs.  Smith  safely  back  to  her  hotel.  You  can  talk  these 
things  over  with  our  fair  friend  on  the  way.  To-morrow, 
at  ten,  I  trust  to  see  you  both  again." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  taxing  Mr.  Gray's  gallantry  too  much," 
interposed  the  lady  with  a  very  vivid  disclosure  of  eyes 
and  teeth.  "  Mr.  Gray  would  be  only  too  happy."  After 
he  had  uttered  this  civility,  there  was  a  slight  consciousness 
of  truth  about  it  that  embarrassed  him  again.  But  Mrs. 
Smith  took  his  proffered  arm,  and  they  bade  the  lawyer 
good-night  and  passed  out  in  the  starlit  night  together. 

Four  weeks  have  elapsed  since  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Smith 
to  the  settlement,  —  four  weeks  that  might  have  been  years 
in  any  other  but  a  California  mining  camp,  for  the  wonder 
ful  change  that  has  been  wrought  in  its  physical  aspect. 
Each  stage  has  brought  its  load  of  fresh  adventurers ;  an 
other  hotel,  which  sprang  up  on  the  site  of  the  National, 
has  its  new  landlord,  and  a  new  set  of  faces  about  its  hos- 


314  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

pitable  board,  where  the  conventional  bean  appears  daily  as  a 
modest  vegetable  or  in  the  insincerer  form  of  coffee.  The 
sawmills  have  been  hard  at  work  for  the  last  month,  and 
huge  gaps  appear  in  the  circling  files  of  redwood  where  the 
fallen  trees  are  transmuted  to  a  new  style  of  existence  in 
the  damp  sappy  tenements  that  have  risen  over  the  burnt 
district.  The  "  great  strike  "  at  Smith's  Pocket  has  been 
heralded  abroad,  and  above  and  below,  and  on  either  side  of 
the  crumbling  tunnel  that  bears  that  name,  as  other  tun 
nels  are  piercing  the  bowels  of  the  mountain,  shafts  are  be 
ing  sunk,  and  claims  are  taken  up  even  to  the  crest  of  Red 
Mountain,  in  the  hope  of  striking  the  great  Smith  lead. 
Already  an  animated  discussion  has  sprung  up  in  the 
columns  of  the  "  Red  Mountain  Banner  "  in  regard  to  the 
direction  of  the  famous  lead,  —  a  discussion  assisted  by  cor 
respondents  who  have  assumed  all  the  letters  of  the  alpha 
bet  in  their  anonymous  arguments,  and  have  formed  the 
opposing  "  angle  "  and  "  dip  "  factions  of  Smith's  Pocket. 
But  whatever  be  the  direction  of  the  lead,  the  progress 
of  the  settlement  has  been  steadily  onward,  with  an  impe 
tus  gained  by  the  late  disaster.  That  classical  but  much 
abused  bird,  the  Phoenix,  has  been  invoked  from  its  ashes 
in  several  editorials  in  the  "  Banner,"  to  sit  as  a  type  of 
resuscitated  Smith's  Pocket,  while  in  the  homelier  phrase  of 
an  honest  miner  "  it  seemed  as  if  the  fire  kem  to  kinder 
clean  out  things  for  a  fresh  start." 

Meanwhile  the  quasi-legal  administration  of  the  estate  of 
Smith  is  drawing  near  a  termination  that  seems  to  credit 
the  prophetic  assertion  of  Judge  Plunkett.  One  fact  has 
been  evolved  in  the  process  of  examination,  viz.,  that  Smith 
had  discovered  the  new  lead  before  he  was  murdered.  It 
was  a  fair  hypothesis  that  the  man  who  assumed  the  benefit  of 
his  discovery  was  the  murderer,  but  as  this  did  not  imme 
diately  involve  the  settlement  of  the  estate  it  excited  little 
comment  or  opposition.  The  probable  murderer  had  es- 


M'LISS  315 

caped.  Judicial  investigations  even  in  the  hands  of  the 
people  had  been  attended  with  disastrous  public  results,  and 
there  was  no  desire  on  the  part  of  justice  to  open  the  case 
and  deal  with  an  abstract  principle  when  there  was  no  op 
portunity  of  making  an  individual  example.  The  circum 
stances  were  being  speedily  forgotten  in  the  new  excitement ; 
even  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Smith  lost  its  novelty.  The 
"  Banner,"  when  alluding  to  her  husband,  spoke  of  him  as 
the  "late  J.  Smith,  Esq.,  "  attributing  the  present  activity 
of  business  as  the  result  of  his  lifelong  example  of  untir 
ing  energy,  and  generally  laid  the  foundation  of  a  belief, 
which  thereafter  obtained,  that  he  died  comfortably  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  surrounded  by  disconsolate  friends. 
The  history  of  all  pioneer  settlements  has  this  legendary 
basis,  and  M'liss  may  live  to  see  the  day  when  her  father's 
connection  with  the  origin  of  the  settlement  shall  become 
apocryphal,  and  contested  like  that  of  Romulus  and  Remus 
and  their  wolfish  wet-nurse. 

It  is  to  the  everlasting  credit  and  honor  of  Smith's  Pocket 
that  the  orphan  and  widow  meet  no  opposition  from  the  spec 
ulative  community,  and  that  the  claim's  utmost  boundaries 
are  liberally  rendered.  How  far  this  circumstance  may  be 
owing  to  the  rare  personal  attractions  of  the  charming 
widow  or  to  M'liss's  personal  popularity,  I  shall  not  pretend 
to  say.  It  is  enough  that  when  the  brief  of  Judge  Plun- 
kett's  case  is  ready  there  are  clouds  of  willing  witnesses 
,to  substantiate  and  corroborate  doubtful  points  to  an  ex 
tent  that  is  more  creditable  to  their  generosity  than  their 
veracity. 

M'liss  has  seen  her  mother.  Mr.  Gray,  with  his  know 
ledge  of  his  pupil's  impulsiveness,  has  been  surprised  to 
notice  that  the  new  relationship  seems  to  awaken  none  of 
those  emotions  in  the  child's  nature  that  he  confidently 
looked  for.  On  the  occasion  of  their  first  meeting,  to  which 
Mr.  Gray  was  admitted,  M'liss  maintained  a  guarded  shy- 


316  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

ness  totally  different  from  her  usual  frank  boldness,  —  a 
shyness  that  was  the  more  remarkable  from  its  contrast 
with  the  unrepressed  and  somewhat  dramatic  emotions  of 
Mrs.  Smith.  Now,  under  her  mother's  protection  and  care, 
he  observes  another  radical  change  in  M'liss's  appearance. 
She  is  dressed  more  tastefully  and  neatly  —  not  entirely  the 
result  of  a  mother's  influence,  but  apparently  the  result  of 
some  natural  instinct  now  for  the  first  time  indulged,  and 
exhibited  in  a  ribbon  or  a  piece  of  jewelry,  worn  with  a 
certain  air  of  consciousness.  There  is  a  more  strict  atten 
tion  to  the  conventionalities  of  life  ;  her  speech  is  more 
careful  and  guarded  ;  her  walk,  literally,  more  womanly 
and  graceful.  Those  things  Mr.  Gray  naturally  attributes 
to  the  influence  of  the  new  relation,  though  he  cannot  help 
recalling  his  meeting  with  M'liss  in  the  woods,  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  fire,  and  of  dating  many  of  these  changes  from 
thence. 

It  is  a  pleasant  morning,  and  Mr.  Gray  is  stirring  early. 
He  has  been  busied  in  preparation  the  night  previous,  for 
this  is  his  last  day  in  Smith's  Pocket.  He  lingers  for  some 
time  about  the  schoolhouse,  gathering  up  those  little  trifles 
which  lie  about  his  desk,  which  have  each  a  separate  his 
tory  in  his  experience  of  Smith's  Pocket,  and  are  a  part  of 
the  incrustations  of  his  life.  Lastly,  a  file  of  the  "  Ked 
Mountain  Banner,"  is  taken  from  the  same  receptacle  and 
packed  away  in  his  bag.  He  walks  to  the  door  and  turns 
to  look  back.  Has  he  forgotten  anything  ?  No,  nothing- 
But  still  he  lingers.  He  wonders  who  will  take  his  plact 
at  the  desk,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  pedagogue  ex 
perience,  perhaps,  feels  something  of  an  awful  responsibility 
as  he  thinks  of  his  past  influence  over  the  wretched  littl 
beings  who  used  to  tremble  at  his  nod,  and  whose  future^ 
ill  or  good,  he  may  have  helped  to  fashion.  At  last  he 
closes  the  door,  almost  tenderly,  and  walks  thoughtfully 
down  the  road.  He  has  to  pass  the  cabin  of  an  Irish  mirier, 


M'LISS  317 

whose  little  boy  is  toddling  in  the  ditch,  with  a  pinafore, 
hands,  and  face  in  a  chronic  state  of  untidiness.  Mr.  Gray 
seizes  him  with  an  hilarious  impulse,  and  after  a  number  of 
rapid  journeys  to  Banbury  Cross,  in  search  of  an  old  woman 
who  mounted  a  mythical  white  horse,  he  kisses  the  cleanest 
place  on  his  broad  expanse  of  cheek,  presses  some  silver 
into  his  chubby  fist,  tells  him  to  be  a  good  boy,  and  de 
posits  him  in  the  ditch  again.  Having  in  this  youthful 
way  atoned  for  certain  sins  of  omission  a  little  further 
back,  he  proceeds,  with  a  sense  of  perfect  absolution,  on 
his  way  to  the  settlement. 

A  few  hours  lie  between  him  and  his  departure,  to  be 
employed  in  friendly  visits  to  Mrs.  Morpher,  Dr.  Duchesne, 
M'liss,  and  her  mother.  The  Mountain  Ranch  is  nearest, 
and  thither  Mr.  Gray  goes  first.  Mrs.  Morpher,  over  a 
kneading-trongh,  with  her  bare  arm  whitened  with  flour,  is 
genuinely  grieved  at  parting  with  the  master,  and,  in  spite 
of  Mr.  Gray's  earnest  remonstrances,  insists  upon  conduct 
ing  him  into  the  chill  parlor,  le?ving  him  there  until  she 
shall  have  attired  herself  in  a  manner  becoming  to  "  com 
pany."  "I  don't  want  you  to  go  at  all  —  no  more  I  don't," 
says  Mrs.  Morpher,  with  all  sincerity,  as  she  seats  herself 
finally  on  the  shining  horsehair  sofa.  "  The  children  will 
miss  you.  I  don't  believe  that  any  one  will  do  for  E/isty, 
Kerg,  and  Clytie  what  you  have  done.  But  I  suppose  you 
know  best  what  Js  best.  Young  men  like  to  see  the  world, 
and  it  ain't  expected  one  so  young  as  you  should  settle 
down  yet.  That 's  what  I  was  telling  Clytie  this  morning. 
That  was  just  the  way  with  my  John  afore  he  was  married. 
I  suppose  you  '11  see  M'liss  and  her  before  you  go.  They 
say  that  she  is  going  to  San  Francisco  soon.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

Mr.  Gray  understands  the  personal  pronoun  to  refer  tc 
Mrs.  Smith,  a  title  Mrs.  Morpher  has  never  granted  M'liss's 
mother,  for  whom  she  entertains  an  instinctive  dislike, 
He  answers  in  the  affirmative,  however,  with  the  conscious 


318  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

ness  of  uneasiness  under  the  inquiry ;  and  as  the  answer 
does  not  seem  to  please  Mrs.  Morpher,  he  is  constrained  to 
commend  M'liss's  manifest  improvement  under  her  mother's 
care. 

"  Well,"  says  Mrs.  Morpher,  with  a  significant  sigh,  "  I 
hope  it  '&  so  ;  but  bless  us,  where  's  Clytie  ?  You  must  n't 
go  without  saying  '  good-by  '  to  her,"  and  Mrs.  Morpher 
starts  away  in  search  of  her  daughter. 

The  dining-room  door  scarcely  closes  before  the  bedroom 
door  opens,  and  Clytie  crosses  the  parlor  softly  with  some 
thing  in  her  hands.  "  You  are  going  now  ? "  she  says 
hurriedly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  take  this  ? "  putting  a  sealed  package  into 
his  hand,  "  and  keep  it  without  opening  it  until  "  — 

"  Until  when,  Clytie  ?  " 

"  Until  you  are  married." 

Mr.  Gray  laughs. 

"  Promise  me,"  repeats  Clytie. 

"  But  I  may  expire  in  the  mean  time,  through  sheer 
curiosity." 

"  Promise  !  "  says  Clytie  gravely. 

"  I  promise,  then." 

Mr.  Gray  receives  the  package.  "  Good-by,"  says  Clytie 
softly. 

Cly tie's  rosy  cheek  is  very  near  Mr.  Gray.  There  is  no 
body  by.  He  is  going  away.  It  is  the  last  time.  He 
kisses  her  just  before  the  door  opens  again  to  Mrs.  Morpher. 

Another  shake  of  hands  all  around,  and  Mr.  Gray  passes 
out  of  the  Mountain  Ranch  forever. 

Dr.  Duchesne's  office  is  near  at  hand  ;  but  for  some 
reason,  that  Mr.  Gray  cannot  entirely  explain  to  himself, 
he  prefers  to  go  to  Mrs.  Smith's  first.  The  little  cottage 
which  they  have  taken  temporarily  is  soon  reached,  and  as 
the  young  man  stands  at  the  door  he  re-knots  the  bow  of 


M'LISS  319 

his  cravat,  and  passes  his  fingers  through  his  curls,  —  trifles 
that  to  Dr.  Duchesne  or  any  other  critical,  middle-aged 
person  might  look  bad. 

M'liss  and  Mrs.  Smith  are  hoth  at  home.  They  have 
been  waiting  for  him  so  long.  Was  it  that  pretty  daughter 
of  Mrs.  Morpher  —  the  fair  young  lady  with  blond  curls,  — 
who  caused  the  detention  ?  Is  not  Mr.  Gray  a  sly  young 
fellow  for  all  his  seeming  frankness  ?  So  he  must  go  to-day  ? 
He  cannot  possibly  wait  a  few  days,  and  go  with  them? 
Thus  Mrs.  Smith,  between  her  red  lips  and  white  teeth, 
and  under  her  half-closed  eyes ;  for  M'liss  stands  quietly 
apart  without  speaking.  Her  reserve  during  the  interview 
contrasts  with  the  vivacity  of  her  mother  as  though  they 
had  changed  respective  places  in  relationship.  Mr.  Gray  i« 
troubled  by  this,  and  as  he  rises  to  go,  he  takes  M'liss's 
hand  in  his. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  before  I  go  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Good-by,"  answers  M'liss. 

"  Nothing  more  ?  " 

"  That 's  enough,7'  rejoins  the  child  simply. 

Mr.  Gray  bites  his  lips.  "  I  may  never  see  you  again, 
you  know,  Melissa,"  he  continues. 

"  You  will  see  us  again,"  says  M'liss  quietly,  raising  her 
great  dark  eyes  to  his. 

The  blood  mounted  to  his  cheek  and  crimsoned  his  fore 
head.  He  was  conscious,  too,  that  the  mother's  face  had 
taken  fire  at  his  own,  as  she  walked  away  toward  the  win 
dow. 

"  Good-by,  then,"  said  Mr.  Gray  pettishly,  as  he  stooped 
to  kiss  her. 

M'liss  accepted  the  salute  stoically.  Mr.  Gray  took  Mrs. 
Smith's  hand ;  her  face  had  resumed  its  colorless,  satin-like 
sheen. 

"  M'liss  knows  the  strength  of  your  good  will,  and  makes 
her  calculations  accordingly.  I  hope  she  may  not  be  mis- 


820  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

taken,"  she  said,  with  a  languid  tenderness  of  voice  and 
eye.  The  young  man  bent  over  her  outstretched  hand,  and 
withdrew  as  the  Wingdam  stage  noisily  rattled  up  before 
the  National  Hotel. 

There  was  but  little  time  left  to  spend  with  Dr.  Du- 
chesne,  so  the  physician  walked  with  him  to  the  stage  office. 
There  were  a  few  of  the  old  settlers  lounging  by  the  stage, 
who  had  discerned,  just  as  the  master  was  going  away,  how 
much  they  liked  him.  Mr.  Gray  had  gone  through  the  cus 
tomary  bibulous  formula  of  leave-taking ;  with  a  hearty 
shake  of  the  doctor's  hand,  and  a  promise  to  write,  he 
climbed  to  the  box  of  the  stage.  "  All  aboard  !  "  cried  the 
driver,  and  with  a  preliminary  bound,  the  stage  rolled  down 
Main  Street. 

Mr.  Gray  remained  buried  in  thought  as  they  rolled 
through  the  town,  each  object  in  passing  recalling  some  in 
cident  of  his  past  experience.  The  stage  had  reached  the 
outskirts  of  the  settlement  when  he  detected  a  well-known 
little  figure  running  down  a  by-trail  to  intersect  the  road 
before  the  stage  had  passed.  He  called  the  driver's  atten 
tion  to  it,  and  as  they  drew  up  at  the  crossing  Aristides's 
short  legs  and  well-known  features  were  plainly  discernible 
through  the  dust.  He  was  holding  in  his  hand  a  letter. 

"  Well,  my  little  man,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  the  driver  im 
patiently. 

"  A  letter  for  the  master,"  gasped  the  exhausted  child. 

"  Give  it  here  !  —  Any  answer  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Gray. 

"  Look  sharp,  then,  and  get  your  billet  duxis  before  you 
go  next  time." 

Mr.  Gray  hurriedly  broke  the  seal  and  read  these  words : 

Judge  Plunkett  has  just  returned  from  the  county  seat, 
Our  case  is  won.  We  leave  here  next  week.  J.  S. 

P.  S.     Have  you  got  my  address  in  San  7ranci.sc.,  ? 


M'LISS  321 

"  Any  answer  ?  "  said  the  driver. 

"None." 

"  Get  up  !  " 

And  the  stage  rolled  away  from  Smith's  Pocket,  leaving 
the  just  Aristides  standing  in  the  dust  of  its  triumphal 
wheels. 


HIGH-WATER  MARK 

WHEN  the  tide  was  out  on  the  Dedlow  Marsh,  its  ex 
tended  dreariness  was  patent.    Its  spongy,  low-lying  surface; 
sluggish,  inky   pools,  and   tortuous  sloughs,  twisting  their 
slimy  way,  eel-like,  toward  the  open  bay,  were  all  hard  facts. 
So  were  the   few  green  tussocks,  with   their   scant   blades, 
their  amphibious   flavor,  and   unpleasant   dampness.      And 
if  you  chose  to  indulge   your   fancy,  —  although   the   flat 
monotony  of  the  Dedlow  Marsh  was  not  inspiring,  —  the 
wavy  line  of  scattered  drift  gave  an   unpleasant   conscious 
ness  of  the  spent  waters,  and  made  the  dead  certainty  of 
the   returning  tide   a   gloomy  reflection,  which  no   present 
sunshine  could  dissipate.     The  greener  meadow-land  seemed 
oppressed  with  this  idea,  and   made  no  positive  attempt  at 
vegetation  until  the  work  of  reclamation  should  be  com- 
f  plete.      In  the  bitter  fruit  of  the  low  cranberry  bushes  one 
;  might  fancy  he  detected  a  naturally  sweet  disposition  curdled 
I  and  soured  by  an  injudicious  course  of  too  much  regular 
Lxold  water. 

The  vocal  expression  of  the  Dedlow  Marsh  was  also 
tjnelancholy  and  depressing.  The  sepulchral  boom  of  the 
bittern,  the  shriek  of  the  curlew,  the  scream  of  passing 
brant,  the  wrangling  of  quarrelsome  teal,  the  sharp  querulous 
protest  of  the  startled  crane,  and  syllabled  complaint  of  the 
"  killdeer  "  plover  were  beyond  the  power  of  written  expres 
sion.  Nor  was  the  aspect  of  these  mournful  fowls  at  all 
cheerful  and  inspiring.  Certainly  not  the  blue  heron, 
standing  midleg  deep  in  the  water,  obviously  catching  cold 
in  a  reckless  disregard  of  wet  feet  and  consequences  ;  nor 


HIGH- WATER  MARK  323 

the  mournful  curlew,  the  dejected  plover,  or  the  low- 
spirited  snipe,  who  saw  fit  to  join  him  in  his  suicidal 
contemplation  ;  nor  the  impassive^  kingfisher  —  an  ornitho 
logical  Marius  —  reviewing  the  desolate  expanse  ;  nor  the 
black  raven  that  went  to  and  fro  over  the  face  of  the  marsh 
continually,  but  evidently  could  n't  make  up  his  mind 
whether  the  waters  had  subsided,  and  felt  low-spirited  in 
the  reflection  that  after  all  this  trouble  he  would  n't  be  able 
to  give  a  definite  answer.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  evident 
at  a  glance  that  the  dreary  expanse  of  Dedlow  Marsh  told 
unpleasantly  on  the  birds,  and  that  the  season  of  migration 
was  looked  forward  to  with  a  feeling  of  relief  and  satisfaction 
by  the  full  grown,  and  of  extravagant  anticipation  by  the 
callow  brood.  But  if  Dedlow  Marsh  was  cheerless  at  tha 
slack  of  the  low  tide,  you  should  have  seen  it  when  the 
tide  was  strong  and  full.  When  the  damp  air  blew  chilly 
over  the  cold  glittering  expanse,  and  came  to  the  faces  o.f 
those  who  looked  seaward  like  another  tide ;  when  a  steel, 
like  glint  marked  the  low  hollows  and  the  sinuous  line  of 
slough  ;  when  the  great  shell-incrusted  trunks  of  fallen  trees 
arose  again,  and  went  forth  on  their  dreary  purposeless 
wanderings,  drifting  hither  and  thither,  but  getting  no 
farther  toward  any  goal  at  the  falling  tide  or  the  day's 
decline  than  the  cursed  Hebrew  in  the  legend  ;  when  the 
glossy  ducks  swung  silently,  making  neither  ripple  nor 
furrow  on  the  shimmering  surface ;  when  the  fog  came  hi 
with  the  tide  and  shut  out  the  blue  above,  even  as  the  green 
below  had  been  obliterated  ;  when  boatmen,  lost  in  that 
fog,  paddling  about  in  a  hopeless  way,  started  at  what 
seemed  the  brushing  of  mermen's  fingers  on  the  boat's  keel, 
or  shrank  from  the  tufts  of  grass  spreading  around  like  the 
floating  hair  of  a  corpse,  and  knew  by  these  signs  that  they 
were  lost  upon  Dedlow  Marsh,  and  must  make  a  night  of 
it,  and  a  gloomy  one  at  that,  —  then  you  might  know  some 
thing  of  Dedlow  Marsh  at  high  water. 


821  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

Let  me  recall  a  story  connected  with  this  latter  view 
which  never  failed  to  recur  to  my  mind  in  my  long  gunning 
excursions  upon  Dedlow  Marsh.  Although  the  event  was 
briefly  recorded  in  the  county  paper,  I  had  the  story,  in  all 
its  eloquent  detail,  from  the  lips  of  the  principal  actor.  I 
.cannot  hope  to  catch  the  varying  emphasis  and  peculiar 
coloring  of  feminine  delineation,  for  my  narrator  was  a 
woman ;  but  I  '11  try  to  give  at  least  its  substance. 

She  lived  midway  of  the  great  slough  of  Dedlow  Marsh 
and  a  good-sized  river,  which  debouched  four  miles  beyond 
into  an  estuary  formed  by  the  Pacific  Ocean,  on  the  long 
indy  peninsula  which  constituted  the  southwestern  boun 
dary  of  a  noble  bay.  The  house  in  which  she  lived  was  a 
small  frame  cabin  raised  from  the  marsh  a  few  feet  by  stout 
piles,  and  was  three  miles  distant  from  the  settlements  upon 
the  river.  Her  husband  was  a  logger,  —  a  profitable  busi 
ness  in  a  county  where  the  principal  occupation  was  the 
manufacture  of  lumber. 

It  was  the  season  of  early  spring,  when  her  husband  left 
on  the  ebb  of  a  high  tide  with  a  raft  of  logs  for  the  usual 
transportation  to  the  lower  end  of  the  bay.  As  she  stood 
by  the  door  of  the  little  cabin  when  the  voyagers  departed, 
she  noticed  a  cold  look  in  the  southeastern  sky,  and  she 
remembered  hearing  her  husband  say  to  his  companions 
that  they  must  endeavor  to  complete  their  voyage  before 
the  coming  of  the  south-westerly  gale  which  he  saw  brew 
ing.  And  that  night  it  began  to  storm  and  blow  harder 
than  she  had  ever  before  experienced,  and  some  great  trees 
fell  in  the  forest  by  the  river,  and  the  house  rocked  like 
her  baby's  cradle. 

But  however  the  storm  might  roar  about  the  little  cabin, 
she  knew  that  one  she  trusted  had  driven  bolt  and  bar 
with  his  own  strong  hand,  and  that  had  he  feared  for 
her  he  would  not  have  left  her.  This,  and  her  domestic 
duties,  and  the  care  of  her  little  sickly  baby,  helped  to 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  325 

keep  her  mind  from  dwelling  on  the  weather,  except,  of 
course,  to  hope  that  he  was  safely  harbored  with  the  logs 
at  Utopia  in  the  dreary  distance.  But  she  noticed  that 
day,  when  she  went  out  to  feed  the  chickens  and  look 
after  the  cow,  that  the  tide  was  up  to  the  little  fence  of 
their  garden  patch,  and  the  roar  of  the  surf  on  the  south 
beach,  though  miles  away,  she  could  hear  distinctly.  And 
she  began  to  think  that  she  would  like  to  have  some  one 
to  talk  with  about  matters,  and  she  believed  that  if  it  had 
not  been  so  far  and  so  stormy,  and  the  trail  so  impassable, 
she  would  have  taken  the  baby  and  have  gone  over  to 
Ryckman's,  her  nearest  neighbor.  But  then,  you  see,  he 
might  have  returned  in  the  storm,  all  wet,  with  no  one  to 
see  to  him ;  and  it  was  a  long  exposure  for  baby,  who  was 
croupy  and  ailing. 

But  that  night,  she  never  could  tell  why,  she  did  n't  feel 
like  sleeping  or  even  lying  down.  The  storm  had  some 
what  abated,  but  she  still  "  sat  and  sat,"  and  even  tried  to 
read.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  a  Bible  or  some  profane 
magazine  that  this  poor  woman  read,  but  most  probably 
the  latter,  for  the  words  all  ran  together  and  made  such 
sad  nonsense  that  she  was  forced  at  last  to  put  the  book 
down  and  turn  to  that  dearer  volume  which  lay  before  her 
in  the  cradle,  with  its  white  initial  leaf  as  yet  unsoiled,  and 
try  to  look  forward  to  its  mysterious  future.  And,  rocking 
the  cradle,  she  thought  of  everything  and  everybody,  but 
still  was  wide  awake  as  ever. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  she  at  last  lay  down 
in  her  clothes.  How  long  she  slept  she  could  not  remem 
ber,  but  she  awoke  with  a  dreadful  choking  in  her  throat, 
and  found  herself  standing,  trembling  all  over,  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  with  her  baby  clasped  to  her  breast, 
and  she  was  "  saying  something.'7  The  baby  cried  and 
sobbed,  and  she  walked  up  and  down  trying  to  hush  it, 
when  she  heard  a  scratching  at  the  door.  She  opened  it 


326  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

fearfully,  and  was  glad  to  see  it  was  only  old  Pete,  theii 
dog,  who  crawled,  dripping  with  water,  into  the  room. 
She  would  have  liked  to  look  out,  not  in  the  faint  hope 
of  her  husband's  coming,  but  to  see  how  things  looked ; 
but  the  wind  shook  the  door  so  savagely  that  she  could 
hardly  hold  it.  Then  she  sat  down  a  little  while,  and 
then  walked  up  and  down  a  little  while,  and  then  she  lay 
down  again  a  little  while.  Lying  close  by  the  wall  of  the 
little  cabin,  she  thought  she  heard  once  or  twice  something 
scrape  slowly  against  the  clapboards,  like  the  scraping  of 
branches.  Then  there  was  a  little  gurgling  sound,  "  like 
the  baby  made  when  it  was  swallowing ;  "  then  something 
went  "  click-click  "  and  "  cluck-cluck,"  so  that  she  sat  up 
in  bed.  When  she  did  so  she  was  attracted  by  something 
else  that  seemed  creeping  from  the  back  door  toward  the 
centre  of  the  room.  It  was  n't  much  wider  than  her  little 
finger,  but  soon  it  swelled  to  the  width  of  her  hand,  and 
began  spreading  all  over  the  floor.  It  was  water ! 

She  ran  to  the  front  door  and  threw  it  wide  open,  and 
saw  nothing  but  water.  She  ran  to  the  back  door  and 
threw  it  open,  and  saw  nothing  but  water.  She  ran  to 
the  side  window,  and  throwing  that  open,  she  saw  nothing 
but  water.  Then  she  remembered  hearing  her  husband 
once  say  that  there  was  no  danger  in  the  tide,  for  that 
fell  regularly,  and  people  could  calculate  on  it,  and  that 
he  would  rather  live  near  the  bay  than  the  river,  whose 
banks  might  overflow  at  any  time.  But  was  it  the  tide  ? 
So  she  ran  again  to  the  back  door,  and  threw  out  a  stick  of 
wood.  It  drifted  away  towards  the  bay.  She  scooped  up 
Borne  of  the  water  and  put  it  eagerly  to  her  lips.  It  was 
fresh  and  sweet.  It  was  the  river,  and  not  the  tide  ! 

It  was  then  —  oh,  God  be  praised  for  his  goodness  !  she 
did  neither  faint  nor  fall;  it  was  then — blessed  be  the 
Saviour,  for  it  was  his  merciful  hand  that  touched  and 
strengthened  her  in  this  awful  moment  —  that  fear  dropped 


HIGH-WATER   MARK  327 

from    her   like  a  garment,  and  her  trembling  ceased.     It 
was  then  and  thereafter  that  she  never  lost  her  self-corn-    ; 
mand,  through  all  the  trials  of  that  gloomy  night. 

She  drew  the  bedstead  toward  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  placed  a  table  upon  it,  and  on  that  she  put  the  cradle. 
The  water  on  the  floor  was  already  over  her  ankles,  and 
the  house  once  or  twice  moved  so  perceptibly,  and  seemed 
to  be  racked  so,  that  the  closet  doors  all  flew  open.  Then 
she  heard  the  same  rasping  and  thumping  against  the  wall, 
and,  looking  out,  saw  that  a  large  uprooted  tree,  which 
had  lain  near  the  road  at  the  upper  end  of  the  pasture, 
had  floated  down  to  the  house.  Luckily  its  long  roots 
dragged  in  the  soil  and  kept  it  from  moving  as  rapidly  as 
the  current,  for  had  it  struck  the  house  in  its  full  career, 
even  the  strong  nails  and  bolts  in  the  piles  could  not 
have  withstood  the  shock.  The  hound  had  leaped  upon 
its  knotty  surface,  and  crouched  near  the  roots,  shivering 
and  whining.  A  ray  of  hope  flashed  across  her  mind. 
She  drew  a  heavy  blanket  from  the  bed,  and,  wrapping 
it  about  the  babe,  waded  in  the  deepening  waters  to  the 
door.  As  the  tree  swung  again,  broadside  on,  making  the 
little  cabin  creak  and  tremble,  she  leaped  on  to  its  trunk. 
By  God's  mercy  she  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  footing  on  its 
slippery  surface,  and,  twining  an  arm  about  its  roots,  she 
held  in  the  other  her  moaning  child.  Then  something 
cracked  near  the  front  porch,  and  the  whole  front  of  the 
house  she  had  just  quitted  fell  forward,  —  just  as  cattle 
fall  on  their  knees  before  they  lie  down,  —  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  great  redwood  tree  swung  round  and 
drifted  away  with  its  living  cargo  into  the  black  night.  \ 

For  all  the  excitement  and  danger,  for  all  her  soothing  of 
her  crying  babe,  for  all  the  whistling  of  the  wind,  for  all  the 
uncertainty  of  her  situation,  she  still  turned  to  look  at  the 
deserted  and  water-swept  cabin.  She  remembered  even 
then,  and  she  wondered  how  foolish  she  was  to  think  oi  it  at 


828  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

that  time,  that  she  wished  she  had  put  on  another  dress  and 
the  baby's  best  clothes;  and  she  kept  praying  that  the 
house  would  be  spared  so  that  he,  when  he  returned,  would 
have  something  to  come  to,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so 
desolate,  and  —  how  could  he  ever  know  what  had  become 
of  her  and  baby  ?  And  at  the  thought  she  grew  sick  and 
faint.  But  she  h*\d  something  else  to  do  besides  worrying, 
for  whenever  the  long  roots  of  her  ark  struck  an  obstacle 
the  whole  trunk  made  half  a  revolution,  and  twice  dipped 
her  in  the  black  water.  The  hound,  who  kept  distracting 
her  by  running  up  and  down  the  tree  and  howling,  at  last 
fell  off  at  one  of  these  collisions.  He  swam  for  some  time 
beside  her,  and  she  tried  to  get  the  poor  beast  upon  the  tree, 
but  he  "  acted  silly  "  and  wild,  and  at  last  she  lost  sight 
of  him  forever.  Then  she  and  her  baby  were  left  alone. 
The  light  which  had  burned  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
deserted  cabin  was  quenched  suddenly.  She  could  not  then 
tell  whither  she  was  drifting.  The  outline  of  the  white 
dunes  on  the  peninsula  showed  dimly  ahead,  and  she  judged 
the  tree  was  moving  in  a  line  with  the  river.  It  must  be 
about  slack  water,  and  she  had  probably  reached  the  eddy 
formed  by  the  confluence  of  the  tide  and  the  overflowing 
waters  of  the  river.  Unless  the  tide  fell  soon,  there  was 
present  danger  of  her  drifting  to  its  channel,  and  being 
carried  out  to  sea  or  crushed  in  the  floating  drift.  That 
peril  averted,  if  she  were  carried  out  on  the  ebb  toward  the 
bay,  she  might  hope  to  strike  one  of  the  wooded  promon 
tories  of  the  peninsula,  and  rest  till  daylight.  Sometimes 
she  thought  she  heard  voices  and  shouts  from  the  river,  and 
the  bellowing  of  cattle  and  bleating  of  sheep.  Then  again 
it  was  only  the  ringing  in  her  ears  and  throbbing  of  her 
heart.  She  found  at  about  this  time  that  she  was  so  chilled 
and  stiffened  in  her  cramped  position  that  she  could  scarcely 
move,  and  the  baby  cried  so  when  she  put  it  to  her  breast 
that  she  noticed  the  milk  refused  to  flow ;  and  she  was  so 


HIGH- WATER   MARK  329 

frightened  at  that  that  she  put  her  head  under  her  shawl, 
and  for  the  first  time  cried  bitterly. 

When  she  raised  her  head  again  the  boom  of  the  surf 
was  behind  her,  and  she  knew  that  her  ark  had  again  swung 
found.  She  dipped  up  the  water  to  cool  her  parched 
throat,  and  found  that  it  was  salt  as  her  tears.  There  was 
a  relief,  though,  for  by  this  sign  she  knew  that  she  was 
drifting  with  the  tide.  It  was  then  the  wind  went  down, 
and  the  great  and  awful  silence  oppressed  her.  There  was 
scarcely  a  ripple  against  the  furrowed  sides  of  the  great 
trunk  on  which  she  rested,  and  around  her  all  was  black 
gloom  and  quiet.  She  spoke  to  the  baby  just  to  hear 
herself  speak,  and  to  know  that  she  had  not  lost  her  voice. 
She  thought  then  —  it  was  queer,  but  she  could  not  help 
thinking  it  —  how  awful  must  have  been  the  night  when  the 
great  ship  swung  over  the  Asiatic  peak,  and  the  sounds  of 
creation  were  blotted  out  from  the  world.  She  thought, 
too,  of  mariners  clinging  to  spars,  and  of  poor  women  who 
were  lashed  to  rafts  and  beaten  to  death  by  the  cruel  sea. 
She  tried  to  thank  God  that  she  was  thus  spared,  and 
lifted  her  eyes  from  the  baby  who  had  fallen  into  a  fretful 
sleep.  Suddenly,  away  to  the  southward,  a  great  light 
lifted  itself  out  of  the  gloom,  and  flashed  and  flickered,  and 
flickered  and  flashed  again.  Her  heart  fluttered  quickly 
against  the  baby's  cold  cheek.  It  was  the  lighthouse  at 
the  entrance  of  the  bay.  As  she  was  yet  wondering  the 
tree  suddenly  rolled  a  little,  dragged  a  little,  and  then 
seemed  to  lie  quiet  and  still.  She  put  out  her  hand  and 
the  current  gurgled  against  it.  The  tree  was  aground,  and, 
by  the  position  of  the  light  and  the  noise  of  the  surf, 
aground  upon  the  Dedlow  Marsh. 

Had  it  not  been  for  her  baby,  who  was  ailing  and  croupy, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  sudden  drying  up  of  that  sensitive 
fountain,  she  would  have  felt  safe  and  relieved.  Perhaps  it 
was  this  which  tended  to  make  all  her  impressions  mournful 


330  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

and  gloomy.  As  the  tide  rapidly  fell,  a  great  flock  of  black 
brant  fluttered  by  her,  screaming  and  crying.  Then  the 
plover  flew  up  and  piped  mournfully  as  they  wheeled 
around  the  trunk,  and  at  last  fearlessly  lit  upon  it  like  a 
gray  cloud.  Then  the  heron  flew  over  and  around  her, 
shrieking  and  protesting,  and  at  last  dropped  its  gaunt  legs 
only  a  few  yards  from  her.  But,  strangest  of  all,  a  pretty 
white  bird,  larger  than  a  dove,  —  like  a  pelican,  but  not  a 
pelican,  —  circled  around  and  around  her.  At  last  it  lit 
upon  a  rootlet  of  the  tree  quite  over  her  shoulder.  She 
put  out  her  hand  and  stroked  its  beautiful  white  neck,  and 
it  never  appeared  to  move.  It  stayed  there  so  long  that 
she  thought  she  would  lift  up  the  baby  to  see  it  and  try  to 
attract  her  attention.  But  when  she  did  so,  the  child  was 
so  chilled  and  cold,  and  had  such  a  blue  look  under  the 
little  lashes,  which  it  did  n't  raise  at  all,  that  she  screamed 
aloud,  and  the  bird  flew  away,  and  she  fainted. 

Well,  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  perhaps  it  -was  not  so 
much,  after  all,  to  any  but  herself.  For  when  she  recovered 
her  senses  it  was  bright  sunlight  and  dead  low  water. 
There  was  a  confused  noise  of  guttural  voices  about  her, 
and  an  old  squaw,  singing  an  Indian  "  hushaby,"  and  rock 
ing  herself  from  side  to  side  before  a  fire  built  on  the  marsh, 
before  which  she,  the  recovered  wife  and  mother,  lay  weak 
and  weary.  Her  first  thought  was  for  her  baby,  and  she 
was  about  to  speak  when  a  young  squaw,  who  must  have 
been  a  mother  herself,  fathomed  her  thought  and  brought 
her  the  "  mowitch,"  pale  but  living,  in  such  a  queer  little 
willow  cradle,  all  bound  up,  just  like  the  squaw's  own  young 
one,  that  she  laughed  and  cried  together,  and  the  young 
squaw  and  the  old  squaw  showed  their  big  white  teeth  and 
glinted  their  black  eyes,  and  said,  "  Plenty  get  well,  skeena 
mowitch,"  "  Wagee  man  come  plenty  soon,"  and  she  could 
have  kissed  their  brown  faces  in  her  joy.  And  then  she 
found  that  they  had  been  gathering  berries  on  the  marsh  io 


HIGH-WATER   MARK  331 

.heir  queer  comical  baskets,  and  saw  the  skirt  of  her  gown 
fluttering  on  the  tree  from  afar,  and  the  old  squaw  could  n't 
resist  the  temptation  of  procuring  a  new  garment,  and  came 
down  and  discovered  the  "  wagee  "  woman  and  child.  And 
of  course  she  gave  the  garment  to  the  old  squaw,  as  you 
may  imagine,  and  when  he  came  at  lasfc  and  rushed  up  to 
her,  looking  about  ten  years  older  in  his  anxiety,  she  felt 
so  faint  again  that  they  had  to  carry  her  to  the  canoe.  For, 
you  see,  he  knew  nothing  about  the  flood  until  he  met  the 
Indians  at  Utopia,  and  knew  by  the  signs  that  the  poor 
woman  was  his  wife.  And  at  the  next  high  tide  he  towed 
the  tree  away  back  home,  although  it  was  n't  worth  the 
trouble,  and  built  another  house,  using  the  old  tree  for  the 
foundation  and  props,  and  called  it  after  her,  "  Mary's 
Ark  !  "  But  you  may  guess  the  next  house  was  built  above 
high-water  mark.  And  that 's  all. 

Not  much,  perhaps,  considering  the  malevolent  capacity 
of  the  Dedlow  Marsh.  But  you  must  tramp  over  it  at  low 
water,  or  paddle  over  it  at  high  tide,  or  get  lost  upon  it 
once  or  twice  in  the  fog,  as  I  have,  to  understand  properly 
Mary's  adventure,  or  to  appreciate  duly  the  blessings  oi 
living  beyond  high-water  mark. 


A  LONELY  EIDE 

As  I  stepped  into  the  Slumgullion  stage  I  saw  that  it 
was  a  dark  night,  a  lonely  road,  and  that  I  was  the  only 
passenger.  Let  me  assure  the  reader  that  I  have  no  ulte 
rior  design  in  making  this  assertion.  A  long  course  of 
light  reading  has  forewarned  me  what  every  experienced 
intelligence  must  confidently  look  for  from  such  a  state* 
ment.  The  story-teller  who  willfully  tempts  fate  by  such 
obvious  beginnings,  who  is  to  the  expectant  reader  in 
danger  of  being  robbed  or  half-murdered,  or  frightened  by 
an  escaped  lunatic,  or  introduced  to  his  lady-love  for  the  first 
time,  deserves  to  be  detected.  I  am  relieved  to  say  that 
none  of  these  things  occurred  to  me.  The  road  from  Wing- 
dam  to  Slumgullion  knew  no  other  banditti  than  the  regu 
larly  licensed  hotel-keepers ;  lunatics  had  not  yet  reached 
such  depth  of  imbecility  as  to  ride  of  their  own  free  will  in 
Californian  stages  ;  and  my  Laura,  amiable  and  long-suffering 
as  she  always  is,  could  not,  I  fear,  have  borne  up  against 
these  depressing  circumstances  long  enough  to  have  made 
the  slightest  impression  on  me. 

I  stood  with  my  shawl  and  carpetbag  in  hand,  gazing 
doubtingly  on  the  vehicle.  Even  in  the  darkness  the  red 
dust  of  Wingdam  was  visible  on  its  roof  and  sides,  and  the 
red  slime  of  Slumgullion  clung  tenaciously  to  its  wheels. 
I  opened  the  door ;  the  stage  creaked  uneasily,  and  in  the 
gloomy  abyss  the  swaying  straps  beckoned  me,  like  ghostly 
hands,  to  come  in  now,  and  have  my  sufferings  out  at 
once. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  occurrence  of  a  circum- 


A  LONELY  RIDE  333 

stance  which  struck  me  as  appalling  and  mysterious.  A 
lounger  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  who  I  had  reason  to 
suppose  was  not  in  any  way  connected  with  the  stage  com 
pany,  gravely  descended,  and,  walking  toward  the  convey 
ance,  tried  the  handle  of  the  door,  opened  it,  expectorated 
in  the  carnage,  and  returned  to  the  hotel  with  a  serious 
demeanor.  Hardly  had  he  resumed  his  position,  when  an 
other  individual,  equally  disinterested,  impassively  walked 
down  the  steps,  proceeded  to  the  back  of  the  stage,  lifted 
it,  expectorated  carefully  on  the  axle,  and  returned  slowly 
and  pensively  to  the  hotel.  A  third  spectator  wearily 
disengaged  himself  from  one  of  the  Ionic  columns  of  the 
portico  and  walked  to  the  box,  remained  for  a  moment  in 
serious  and  expectorative  contemplation  of  the  boot,  and 
then  returned  to  his  column.  There  was  something  so 
weird  in  this  baptism  that  I  grew  quite  nervous. 

Perhaps  I  was  out  of  spirits.  A  number  of  infinitesimal 
annoyances,  winding  up  with  the  resolute  persistency  of  the 
clerk  at  the  stage  office  to  enter  my  name  misspelt  on  the 
way-bill,  had  not  predisposed  me  to  cheerfulness.  The  in 
mates  of  the  Eureka  House,  from  a  social  view-point,  were 
not  attractive.  There  was  the  prevailing  opinion  —  so 
common  to  many  honest  people  —  that  a  serious  style  of 
deportment  and  conduct  tc  ,/ard  a  stranger  indicates  high 
gentility  and  elevated  station.  Obeying  this  principle,  all 
hilarity  ceased  on  my  entrance  to  supper,  and  general 
remark  merged  into  the  safer  and  uncompromising  chroni 
cle  of  several  bad  cases  of  diphtheria,  then  epidemic  at 
Wingdam.  When  I  left  the  dining-room,  with  an  odd 
feeling  that  I  had  been  supping  exclusively  on  mustard  and 
tea  leaves,  I  stopped  a  moment  at  the  parlor  door.  A 
piano,  harmoniously  related  to  the  dinner-bell,  tinkled 
responsive  to  a  diffident  and  uncertain  touch.  On  the 
white  wall  the  shadow  of  an  old  and  sharp  profile  was  bend 
ing  over  several  symmetrical  and  shadowy  curls.  "  I  sez  to 


334  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

IVIariar,  l  Mariar,'  sez  I,  '  praise  to  the  face  is  open  dis 
grace.'  r'  I  heard  no  more.  Dreading  some  susceptibility 
to  sincere  expression  on  the  subject  of  female  loveliness,  I 
walked  away,  checking  the  compliment  that  otherwise 
might  have  risen  unbidden  to  my  lips,  and  have  brought 
shame  and  sorrow  to  the  household. 

It  was  \vith  the  memory  of  these  experiences  resting 
heavily  upon  me  that  I  stood  hesitatingly  before  the  stage 
door.  The  driver,  about  to  mount,  was  for  a  moment 
illuminated  by  the  open  door  of  the  hotel.  He  had  the 
wearied  look  which  was  the  distinguishing  expression  of 
Wingdam.  Satisfied  that  I  was  properly  way-billed  and 
receipted  for,  he  took  no  further  notice  of  me.  I  looked 
longingly  at  the  box-seat,  but  he  did  not  respond  to  the  ap 
peal.  I  flung  my  carpetbag  into  the  chasm,  dived  reck 
lessly  after  it,  and  —  before  I  was  fairly  seated  —  with  a 
great  sigh,  a  creaking  of  unwilling  springs,  complaining 
bolts,  and  harshly  expostulating  axle,  we  moved  away. 
Bather  the  hotel  door  slipped  behind,  the  sound  of  the 
piano  sank  to  rest,  and  the  night  and  its  shadows  moved 
solemnly  upon  us. 

To  say  it  was  dark  expressed  but  faintly  the  pitchy 
obscurity  that  encompassed  the  vehicle.  The  roadside 
trees  were  scarcely  distinguishable  as  deeper  masses  of 
shadow  ;  I  knew  them  only  by  the  peculiar  sodden  odor 
that  from  time  to  time  sluggishly  flowed  in  at  the  open 
window  as  we  rolled  by.  We  proceeded  slowly ;  so  lei 
surely  that,  leaning  from  the  carriage,  I  more  than  once 
detected  the  fragrant  sigh  of  some  astonished  cow,  whose 
ruminating  repose  upon  the  highway  we  had  ruthlessly  dis 
turbed.  But  in  the  darkness  our  progress,  more  the  guid' 
ance  of  some  mysterious  instinct  than  any  apparent  volition 
of  our  own,  gave  an  indefinable  charm  of  security  to  our 
journey,  that  a  moment's  hesitation  or  indecision  on  th» 
part  of  the  driver  would  have  destroyed. 


A  LONELY  KIDE  335 

I  had  indulged  a  hope  that  in  the  empty  vehicle  I  might 
obtain  that  rest  so  often  denied  me  in  its  crowded  condition. 
It  was  a  weak  delusion.  When  I  stretched  out  my  limbs 
it  was  only  to  find  that  the  ordinary  conveniences  for  mak 
ing  several  people  distinctly  uncomfortable  were  distributed 
throughout  my  individual  frame.  At  last,  resting  my  arms 
on  the  straps,  by  dint  of  much  gymnastic  effort  I  became 
sufficiently  composed  to  be  aware  of  a  more  refined  species 
of  torture.  The  springs  of  the  stage,  rising  and  falling 
regularly,  produced  a  rhythmical  beat,  which  began  to 
painfully  absorb  my  attention.  Slowly  this  thumping 
merged  into  a  senseless  echo  of  the  mysterious  female  of 
the  hotel  parlor,  and  shaped  itself  into  this  awful  and 
benumbing  axiom  :  "  Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace. 
Praise--to-the-face-is-open-disgrace."  Inequalities  of  the  road 
only  quickened  its  utterance  or  drawled  it  to  an  exasperat- 
ting  length. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  seriously  consider  the  statement.  It 
was  of  no  use  to  except  to  it  indignantly.  It  was  of  no  use 
to  recall  the  many  instances  where  praise  to  the  face  had 
redounded  to  the  everlasting  honor  of  praiser  and  bepraised  ; 
of  no  use  to  dwell  sentimentally  on  modest  genius  and 
courage  lifted  up  and  strengthened  by  open  commendation  ; 
of  no  use  to  except  to  the  mysterious  female,  —  to  picture 
her  as  rearing  a  thin-blooded  generation  on  selfish  and  me 
chanically  repeated  axioms,  —  all  this  failed  to  counteract 
the  monotonous  repetition  of  this  sentence.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  give  in,  and  I  was  about  to  accept  it 
weakly,  as  we  too  often  treat  other  illusions  of  darkness  and 
necessity,  for  the  time  being,  when  I  became  aware  of  some 
other  annoyance  that  had  been  forcing  itself  upon  me  for 
the  last  few  moments.  How  quiet  the  driver  was ! 

Was  there  any  driver  ?  Had  I  any  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  was  not  lying  gagged  and  bound  on  the  roadside, 
and  the  highwayman,  with  blackened  face,  who  did  the 


836  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

thing  so  quietly,  driving  me  —  whither  ?  The  thing  is  per 
fectly  feasible.  And  what  is  this  fancy  now  "being  jolted 
out  of  me  ?  A  story  ?  It 's  of  no  use  to  keep  it  back, 
particularly  in  this  abysmal  vehicle,  and  here  it  comes:  I 
am  a  marquis  —  a  French  marquis ;  French,  because  the 
peerage  is  not  so  well  known,  and  the  country  is  better 
adapted  to  romantic  incident  —  a  marquis,  because  the 
democratic  reader  delights  in  the  nobility.  My  name  is 
something  ligny.  I  am  coming  from  Paris  to  my  country- 
seat  at  St.  Germain.  It  is  a  dark  night,  and  I  fall  asleep 
and  tell  my  honest  coachman,  Andre,  not  to  disturb  me, 
and  dream  of  an  angel.  The  carriage  at  last  stops  at  the 
chateau.  It  is  so  dark  that,  when  I  alight,  I  do  not  recog 
nize  the  face  of  the  footman  who  holds  the  carriage-door. 
But  what  of  that  ?  —  peste  !  I  am  heavy  with  sleep.  The 
same  obscurity  also  hides  the  old  familiar  indecencies  of  the 
statues  on  the  terrace ;  but  there  is  a  door,  and  it  opens 
and  shuts  behind  me  smartly.  Then  I  find  myself  in  a 
trap,  in  the  presence  of  the  brigand  who  has  quietly  gagged 
poor  Andre  and  conducted  the  carriage  thither.  There  is 
nothing  for  me  to  do,  as  a  gallant  French  marquis,  but  to 
say,  "  Parbleu  !  "  draw  my  rapier,  and  die  valorously  !  I 
am  found,  a  week  or  two  after,  outside  a  deserted  cabaret 
near  the  barrier,  with  a  hole  through  my  ruffled  linen,  and 
my  pockets  stripped.  No ;  on  second  thoughts,  I  am  res 
cued,  —  rescued  by  the  angel  I  have  been  dreaming  of,  who 
is  the  assumed  daughter  of  the  brigand,  but  the  real  daughter 
of  an  intimate  friend. 

Looking  from  the  window  again,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
distinguishing  the  driver,  I  found  my  eyes  were  growing 
accustomed  to  the  darkness.  I  could  see  the  distant  hori 
zon,  defined  by  India-inky  woods  relieving  a  lighter  sky. 
A  few  stars,  widely  spaced  in  this  picture,  glimmering 
gadly.  I  noticed  again  the  infinite  depth  of  patient  sorrow 
in  their  serene  faces ;  and  I  hope  that  the  Vandal  who  first 


A  LONELY   RIDE  337 

applied  the  flippant  "  twinkle  "  to  them  may  not  be  driven 
melancholy  mad  by  their  reproachful  eyes.  I  noticed  again 
the  mystic  charm  of  space,  that  imparts  a  sense  of  individual 
solitude  to  each  integer  of  the  densest  constellation,  in 
volving  the  smallest  star  with  immeasurable  loneliness. 
Something  of  this  calm  and  solitude  crept  over  me,  and 
I  dozed  in  my  gloomy  cavern.  When  I  awoke  the  full 
moon  was  rising.  Seen  from  my  window,  it  had  an  in 
describably  unreal  and  theatrical  effect.  It  was  the  full 
moon  of  Norma  —  that  remarkable  celestial  phenomenon 
which  rises  so  palpably  to  a  hushed  audience  and  a  sublime 
andante  chorus,  until  the  Casta  Diva  is  sung  —  the  "  incon 
stant  moon  "  that  then  and  thereafter  remains  fixed  in  the 
heavens  as  though  it  were  a  part  of  the  solar  system  inaugu 
rated  by  Joshua.  Again  the  white-robed  Druids  filed  past 
me,  again  I  saw  that  improbable  mistletoe  cut  from  that 
impossible  oak,  and  again  cold  chills  ran  down  my  back 
with  the  first  strain  of  the  recitative.  The  thumping 
springs  essayed  to  beat  time,  and  the  private  box-like 
obscurity  of  the  vehicle  lent  a  cheap  enchantment  to  the 
view.  But  it  was  a  vast  improvement  upon  my  past  ex 
perience,  and  I  hugged  the  fond  delusion. 

My  fears  for  the  driver  were  dissipated  with  the  rising 
moon.  A  familiar  sound  had  assured  me  of  his  presence  in 
the  full  possession  of  at  least  one  of  his  most  important 
functions.  Frequent  and  full  expectoration  convinced  m€ 
that  his  lips  were  as  yet  not  sealed  by  the  gag  of  highway 
men,  and  soothed  my  anxious  ear.  With  this  load  lifted 
from  my  mind,  and  assisted  by  the  mild  presence  of  Diana, 
who  left,  as  when  she  visited  Endymion,  much  of  her 
splendor  outside  my  cavern,  —  I  looked  around  the  empty 
vehicle.  On  the  forward  seat  lay  a  woman's  hairpin.  I 
picked  it  up  with  an  interest  that,  however,  soon  abated. 
There  was  no  scent  of  the  roses  to  cling  to  it  still,  not  even 
of  hair-oil.  No  bent  or  twist  in  its  rigid  angles  betrayed 


838  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

any  trait  of  its  wearer's  character.  I  tried  to  think  that 
it  might  have  been  "  Mariar's."  I  tried  to  imagine  that, 
3011  fining  the  symmetrical  curls  of  that  girl,  it  might  have 
heard  the  soft  compliments  whispered  in  her  ears  which 
provoked  the  wrath  of  the  aged  female.  But  in  vain.  It 
was  reticent  and  unswerving  in  its  upright  fidelity,  and  at 
last  slipped  listlessly  through  my  fingers. 

I  had  dozed  repeatedly,  —  waked  on  the  threshold  of 
oblivion  by  contact  with  some  of  the  angles  of  the  coach, 
and  feeling  that.  I  was  unconsciously  assuming,  in  imitation 
of  a  humble  insect  of  my  childish  recollection,  that  spherical 
shape  which  could  best  resist  those  impressions,  when  I 
perceived  that  the  moon,  riding  high  in  the  heavens,  had 
begun  to  separate  the  formless  masses  of  the  shadowy 
landscape.  Trees  isolated,  in  clumps,  and  assemblages, 
changed  places  before  my  window.  The  sharp  outlines  of 
the  distant  hills  came  back  as  in  daylight,  but  little  softened 
in  the  dry,  cold,  dewless  air  of  a  California  summer  night. 
I  was  wondering  how  late  it  was,  and  thinking  that  if  the 
horses  of  the  night  traveled  as  slowly  as  the  team  before 
us,  Faustus  might  have  been  spared  his  agonizing  prayer, 
when  a  sudden  spasm  of  activity  attacked  my  driver.  A 
succession  of  whip-snappings,  like  a  pack  of  Chinese  crack 
ers,  broke  from  the  box  before  me.  The  stage  leaped  for 
ward,  and  when  I  could  pick  myself  from  under  the  seat, 
a  long  white  building  had  in  some  mysterious  way  rolled 
before  my  window.  It  must  be  Slumgullion  !  As  I  de 
scended  from  the  stage  I  addressed  the  driver :  — 

"  I  thought  you  changed  horses  on  the  road  ?  " 

"  So  we  did.     Two  hours  ago." 

"  That  's  odd.     I  did  n't  notice  it." 

"  Must  have  been  asleep,  sir.  Hope  you  had  a  pleasant 
nap.  Bully  place  for  a  nice  quiet  snooze,  empty  stage, 
sir !  " 


THE  MAN   OF  NO  ACCOUNT 

His  name  was  Fagg,  —  David  Fagg.  He  came  to  Cali 
fornia  in  '52  with  us,  in  the  Skyscraper.  I  don't  think 
he  did  it  in  an  adventurous  way.  He  probably  had  no  other 
place  to  go  to.  When  a  knot  of  us  young  fellows  would 
recite  what  splendid  opportunities  we  resigned  to  go,  and 
how  sorry  our  friends  were  to  have  us  leave,  and  show 
daguerreotypes  and  locks  of  hair,  and  talk  of  Mary  and 
Susan,  the  man  of  no  account  used  to  sit  by  and  listen  with 
a  pained,  mortified  expression  on  his  plain  face,  and  say 
nothing.  I  think  he  had  nothing  to  say.  He  had  no  as 
sociates,  except  when  we  patronized  him ;  and,  in  point  of 
fact,  he  was  a  good  deal  of  sport  to  us.  He  was  always 
seasick  whenever  we  had  a  capful  of  wind.  He  never  got 
his  sea-legs  on  either.  And  I  never  shall  forget  how  we 
all  laughed  when  Rattler  took  him  the  piece  of  pork  on  a 
string,  and  —  But  you  know  that  time-honored  joke.  And 
then  we  had  such  a  splendid  lark  with  him.  Miss  Fanny 
Twinkler  could  n't  bear  the  sight  of  him,  and  wre  used  to 
make  Fagg  think  that  she  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and 
sent  him  little  delicacies  and  books  from  the  cabin.  You 
ought  to  have  witnessed  the  rich  scene  that  took  place 
when  he  came  up,  stammering  and  very  sick,  to  thank  her ! 
Did  n't  she  flash  up  grandly,  and  beautifully,  and  scornfully  ? 
So  like  "  Medora,"  Rattler  said,  —  Rattler  knew  Byron  by 
heart,  —  and  was  n't  Old  Fagg  awfully  cut  up  ?  But  he  got 
over  it,  and  when  Rattler  fell  sick  at  Valparaiso,  Old  Fagg 
used  to  nurse  him.  You  see  he  was  a  good  sort  of  fellow, 
but  he  lacked  manliness  and  spirit. 


340  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

He  had  absolutely  no  idea  of  poetry.  I  've  seen  him  sit 
itolidly  by,  mending  his  old  clothes,  when  Battler  delivered 
that  stirring  apostrophe  of  Byron's  to  the  ocean.  He  asked 
Battler  once,  quite  seriously,  if  he  thought  Byron  was  ever 
seasick.  I  don't  remember  Battler's  reply,  but  I  know  we 
all  laughed  very  much,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  some 
thing  good,  for  Battler  was  smart. 

When  the  Skyscraper  arrived  at  San  Francisco  we  had 
a  grand  "  feed."  We  agreed  to  meet  every  year  and  per 
petuate  the  occasion.  Of  course  we  did  n't  invite  Fagg. 
Fagg  was  a  steerage  passenger,  and  it  was  necessary,  you 
see,  now  we  were  ashore,  to  exercise  a  little  discretion. 
But  Old  Fagg,  as  we  called  him,  —  he  was  only  about  twenty- 
five  years  old,  by  the  way,  —  was  the  source  of  immense 
amusement  to  us  that  day.  It  appeared  that  he  had  con 
ceived  the  idea  that  he  could  walk  to  Sacramento,  and 
actually  started  off  afoot.  We  had  a  good  time,  and  shook 
hands  with  one  another  all  around,  and  so  parted.  Ah, 
me  !  only  eight  years  ago,  and  yet  some  of  those  hands, 
then  clasped  in  amity,  have  been  clenched  at  each  other, 
or  have  dipped  furtively  in  one  another's  pockets.  I  know 
that  we  did  n't  dine  together  the  next  year,  because  young 
Barker  swore  he  wouldn't  put  his  feet  under  the  same 
mahogany  with  such  a  very  contemptible  scoundrel  as  that 
Mixer  ;  and  Nibbles,  who  borrowed  money  at  Valparaiso  of 
young  Stubbs,  who  was  then  a  waiter  in  a  restaurant,  did  n't 
like  to  meet  such  people. 

When  I  bought  a  number  of  shares  in  the  Coyote  Tunnel 
at  Mugginsville,  in  '54,  I  thought  I  'd  take  a  run  up  there 
and  see  it.  I  stopped  at  the  Empire  Hotel,  and  after 
dinner  I  got  a  horse  and  rode  round  the  town  and  out  to 
the  claim.  One  of  those  individuals  whom  newspaper  cor 
respondents  call  "  our  intelligent  informant,"  and  to  whom 
in  all  small  communities  the  right  of  answering  questions  is 
tacitly  yielded,  was  quietly  pointed  out  to  me.  Habit  had 


THE   MAN   OF  NO   ACCOUNT  341 

enabled  him  to  work  and  talk  at  the  same  time,  and  he 
never  pretermitted  either.  He  gave  me  a  history  of  the 
claim,  and  added :  "  You  see,  stranger  (he  addressed  the 
bank  before  him),  gold  is  sure  to  come  outer  that  theer 
claim  (he  put  in  a  comma  with  his  pick),  but  the  old  pro- 
pri-e-tor  (he  wriggled  out  the  word  and  the  point  of  his 
pick)  warn't  of  much  account  (a  long  stroke  of  the  pick  for 
a  period).  He  was  green,  and  let  the  boys  about  here 
jump  him,"  —  and  the  rest  of  his  sentence  was  confided  to 
his  hat,  which  he  had  removed  to  wipe  his  manly  brow  with 
his  red  bandana. 

I  asked  him  who  was  the  original  proprietor. 

"  His  name  war  Fagg." 

I  went  to  see  him.  He  looked  a  little  older  and  plainer. 
He  had  worked  hard,  he  said,  and  was  getting  on  "  so-so." 
I  took  quite  a  liking  to  him  and  patronized  him  to  some 
extent.  Whether  I  did  so  because  I  was  beginning  to  have 
a  distrust  for  such  fellows  as  Rattler  and  Mixer  is  not 
necessary  for  me  to  state. 

You  remember  how  the  Coyote  Tunnel  went  in,  and 
how  awfully  we  shareholders  were  done  !  Well,  the  next 
thing  I  heard  was  that  Rattler,  who  was  one  of  the  heaviest 
shareholders,  was  up  at  Mugginsville  keeping  bar  for  the 
proprietor  of  the  Mugginsville  Hotel,  and  that  Old  Fagg  had 
struck  it  rich,  and  did  n't  know  what  to  do  with  his  money. 
All  this  was  told  me  by  Mixer,  who  had  been  there  settling 
up  matters,  and  likewise  that  Fagg  was  sweet  upon  the 
daughter  of  the  proprietor  of  the  aforesaid  hotel.  And  so 
by  hearsay  and  letter  I  eventually  gathered  that  old  Robins, 
the  hotel  man,  was  trying  to  get  up  a  match  between  Nellie 
Robins  and  Fagg.  Nellie  was  a  pretty,  plump,  and  foolish 
little  thing,  and  would  do  just  as  her  father  wished.  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  Fagg  if  he  should 
marry  and  settle  down ;  that  as  a  married  man  he  might 
be  of  some  account.  So  I  ran  up  to  Mugginsville  one  day 
io  look  after  things. 


842  EARLIER    SKETCHES 

It  did  me  an  immense  deal  of  good  to  make  Rattler  mix 
my  drinks  for  me,  —  Rattler  !  the  gay,  brilliant,  and  un 
conquerable  Rattler,  who  had  tried  to  snub  me  two  years 
ago  !  I  talked  to  him  about  Old  Fagg  and  Nellie,  particu 
larly  as  I  thought  the  subject  was  distasteful.  He  never 
liked  Fagg,  and  he  was  sure,  he  said,  that  Nellie  did  n't. 
Did  Nellie  like  anybody  else  ?  He  turned  round  to  the 
mirror  behind  the  bar  and  brushed  up  his  hair.  I  under 
stood  the  conceited  wretch.  I  thought  I'd  put  Fagg  on 
his  guard,  and  get  him  to  hurry  up  matters.  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  him.  You  could  see  by  the  way  the  poor  fellow 
acted  that  he  was  badly  stuck.  He  sighed,  and  promised 
to  plu2k  up  courage  to  hurry  matters  to  a  crisis.  Nellie 
was  a  good  girl,  and  I  think  had  a  sort  of  quiet  respect  for 
Old  Fagg's  unobtrusiveness.  But  her  fancy  was  already 
taken  captive  by  Rattler's  superficial  qualities,  which  were 
obvious  and  pleasing.  I  don't  think  Nellie  was  any  worse 
than  you  or  I.  We  are  more  apt  to  take  acquaintances  at 
their  apparent  value  than  their  intrinsic  worth.  It 's  less 
trouble,  and  except  when  we  want  to  trust  them,  quite  as 
convenient.  The  difficulty  with  women  is  that  their  feelings 
are  apt  to  get  interested  sooner  than  ours,  and  then,  you 
know,  reasoning  is  out  of  the  question.  This  is  what  Old 
Fagg  would  have  known  had  he  been  of  any  account.  But 
he  was  n't.  So  much  the  worse  for  him. 

It  was  a  few  months  afterward,  and  I  was  sitting  in  my 
office  when  in  walked  Old  Fagg.  I  was  surprised  to  see 
him  down,  but  we  talked  over  the  current  topics  in  that 
mechanical  manner  of  people  who  know  that  they  have 
something  else  to  say,  but  are  obliged  to  get  at  it  in  that 
formal  way.  After  an  interval,  Fagg  in  his  natural  manner 
said, — 

"  I  'm  going  home  !  " 

"  Groing  home  ?  " 

*  Yes,  —  that  is,  I  think  I  '11  take  a  trip  to  the  Atlantib 


THE    MAN    OF    NO   ACCOUNT  343 

States.  I  came  to  see  you,  as  you  know  I  have  some  little 
property,  and  I  have  executed  a  power  of  attorney  for  you 
to  manage  my  affairs.  I  have  some  papers  I  'd  like  to  leave 
with  you.  Will  you  take  charge  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.      «  But  what  of  Nellie  ?  " 

His  face  fell.  He  tried  to  smile,  and  the  combination 
resulted  in  one  of  the  most  startling  and  grotesque  effects  I 
ever  beheld.  At  length  he  said,  — 

"  I  shall  not  marry  Nellie,  —  that  is,''  —  he  seemed  to 
apologize  internally  for  the  positive  form  of  expression,  — 
"  I  think  that  I  had  better  not." 

"  David  Fagg,"  I  said  with  sudden  severity,  •'  you  're  of 
no  account  !  " 

To  my  astonishment,  his  face  brightened. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  that 's  it  !  —  I  'm  of  no  account !  But 
I  always  knew  it.  You  see,  I  thought  Rattler  loved  that 
girl  as  well  as  I  did,  and  I  knew  she  liked  him  better  than 
she  did  me,  and  would  be  happier,  I  dare  say,  with  him. 
But  then  I  knew  that  old  Robins  would  have  preferred 
me  to  him,  as  I  was  better  off,  —  and  the  girl  would  do  as 
he  said,  —  and,  you  see,  I  thought  I  was  kinder  in  the  way, 
—  and  so  I  left.  But,"  he  continued,  as  I  was  about  to 
interrupt  him,  "  for  fear  the  old  man  might  object  to  Rattler, 
I  've  lent  him  enough  to  set  him  up  in  business  for  himself 
in  Dogtown.  A  pushing,  active,  brilliant  fellow,  you  know, 
like  Rattler  can  get  along,  and  will  soon  be  in  his  old  posi 
tion  again,  —  and  you  need  n't  be  hard  on  him,  you  knovf 
if  he  does  n't.  Good-by." 

I  was  too  much  disgusted  with  his  treatment  of  that 
Rattler  to  be  at  all  amiable,  but  as  his  business  was  profit/ 
able,  I  promised  to  attend  to  it,  and  he  left.  A  few  weeks 
passed.  The  return  steamer  arrived,  and  a  terrible  incident 
occupied  the  papers  for  days  afterwards.  People  in  all  parts 
of  the  State  conned  eagerly  the  details  of  an  awful  ship 
wreck,  and  those  who  had  friends  aboard  went  away  by 


344  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

themselves,  and  read  the  long  list  of  the  lost  under  their 
breath.  I  read  of  the  gifted,  the  gallant,  the  noble,  and 
loved  ones  who  had  perished,  and  among  them  I  think  I 
was  the  first  to  read  the  name  of  David  Fagg.  For  the 
"  man  of  no  account  "  had  "  gone  home  1 " 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD 
PART  I 

IN    THE    FIELD 

IT  was  near  the  close  of  an  October  day  that  I  began  to  be 
disagreeably  conscious  of  the  Sacramento  Valley.      I  had 
been   riding  since   sunrise,  and  my  course  through  the  de-    . 
pressing  monotony  of  the  long  level  landscape  affected  me   ; 
more  like  a  dull,  dyspeptic  dream  than  a  business  journey,   . 
performed  under  that  sincerest  of  natural  phenomena,  —  a 
California  sky.     The  recurring  stretches  of  brown  and  baked 
fields,  the  gaping  fissures  in  the  dusty  trail,  the  hard  out 
line  of  the  distant  hills,  and  the  herds  of  slowly  moving 
cattle,  seemed  like  features  of  some  glittering  stereoscopic 
picture  that  never  changed.     Active  exercise  might  have 
removed  this  feeling,  but  my  horse  by  some  subtle  instinct 
had  long  since  given  up  all  ambitious  effort,  and  had  lapsed 
into  a  dogged  trot. 

It  was   autumn,  but  not    the   season  suggested  to   the  ! 
Atlantic    reader    under   that    title.      The    sharply  defined  , 
boundaries  of  the  wet  and  dry  seasons  were  prefigured  in 
the  clear  outlines  of  the  distant  hills.      In  the  dry  atmos 
phere  the  decay  of  vegetation  was  too  rapid  for  the  slow 
hectic  which  overtakes  an  Eastern  landscape,  or  else  Nature 
was    too    practical    for   such    thin  disguises.     She    merely 
turned  the  Hippocratic  face  to  the  spectator,  with  the  old 
diagnosis  of  death  in  her  sharp,  contracted  features. 

In  the  contemplation  of  such  a  prospect  there  was  little 
to  excite  any  but  a  morbid  fancy.     There  were  no  clouds 


346  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

in  the  flinty  blue  heavens,  and  the  setting  of  the  sun  was 
accompanied  with  as  little  ostentation  as  was  consistent 
with  the  dryly  practical  atmosphere.  Darkness  soon  fol 
lowed,  with  a  rising  wind,  which  increased  as  the  shadows 
deepened  on  the  plain.  The  fringe  of  alder  by  the  water 
course  began  to  loom  up  as  I  urged  my  horse  forward.  A 
half-hour's  active  spurring  brought  me  to  a  corral,  and  a 
little  beyond  a  house,  so  low  and  broad,  it  seemed  at  first 
sight  to  be  half  buried  in  the  earth. 

My  second  impression  was  that  it  had  grown  out  of  the 
soil  like  some  monstrous  vegetable,  its  dreary  proportions 
were  so  in  keeping  with  the  vast  prospect.  There  were  no 
recesses  along  its  roughly  boarded  walls  for  vagrant  and 
unprofitable  shadows  to  lurk  in  the  daily  sunshine.  No 
projection  for  the  wind  by  night  to  grow  musical  over,  to 
wail,  whistle,  or  whisper  to  ;  only  a  long  wooden  shelf  con 
taining  a  chilly-looking  tin  basin  and  a  bar  of  soap.  Its 
uncurtained  windows  were  red  with  the  sinking  sun,  as 
though  bloodshot  and  inflamed  from  a  too  long  unlidded 
existence.  The  tracks  of  cattle  led  to  its  front  door,  firmly 
closed  against  the  rattling  wind. 

To  avoid  being  confounded  with  this  familiar  element,  I 
walked  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  which  was  connected  with 
a  smaller  building  by  a  slight  platform.      A  grizzled,  hard- 
faced  old  man  was  standing  there,  and  met  my  salutation 
with  a  look  of  inquiry,  and,  without  speaking,  led  the  way 
to  the  principal  room.     As  I  entered,  four  young  men  who 
were  reclining  by  the  fire  slightly  altered  their  attitudes  of 
perfect  repose,  but  beyond  that  betrayed  neither  curiosity 
I  nor  interest.      A  hound  started  from  a  dark  corner  with  Co 
'    growl,  but  was  immediately  kicked  by  the  old  man  into 
\  obscurity  and   silenced    again.      I    can't    tell    why,   but    I 
instantly  received  the  impression  that  for  a  long  time  the 
group  by  the  fire  had  not  uttered    a    word    or   moved    a 
muscle.      Taking  a  seat,  I  briefly  stated  my  business. 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD  347 

Was  a  United  States  surveyor.  Had  come  on  account 
of  the  Espiritu  Santo  rancho.  Wanted  to  correct  the 
exterior  boundaries  of  township  lines,  so  as  to  connect  with 
the  near  exteriors  of  private  grants.  There  had  been  some 
intervention  to  the  old  survey  by  a  Mr.  Tryan,  who  had  pre- 
iempted  adjacent  —  "  Settled  land  warrants,"  interrupted 
the  old  man.  "  Ah,  yes!  land  warrants,  —  and  then  this 
was  Mr.  Tryan  ?  " 

I  had  spoken  mechanically,  for  I  was  preoccupied  in  con 
necting  other  public  lines  with  private  surveys,  as  I  looked 
in  his  face.  It  was  certainly  a  hard  face,  and  reminded 
me  of  the  singular  effect  of  that  mining  operation  known  as 
"  ground  sluicing ;  "  the  harder  lines  of  underlying  char 
acter  were  exposed,  and  what  were  once  plastic  curves  and 
soft  outlines  were  obliterated  by  some  powerful  agency. 

There  was  a  dryness  in  his  voice  not  unlike  the  prevail 
ing  atmosphere  of  the  valley,  as  he  launched  into  an  ex 
parte  statement  of  the  contest,  with  a  fluency  which,  like 
the  wind  without,  showed  frequent  and  unrestrained  expres 
sion.  He  told  me  —  what  I  had  already  learned  —  that 
the  boundary  line  of  the  old  Spanish  grant  was  a  creek, 
described  in  the  loose  phraseology  of  the  deseno  as  begin 
ning  in  the  valda  or  skirt  of  the  hill,  its  precise  location 
long  the  subject  of  litigation.  I  listened  and  answered  with 
little  interest,  for  my  mind  was  still  distracted  by  the  wind 
which  swept  violently  by  the  house,  as  well  as  by  his  odd 
face,  which  was  again  reflected  in  the  resemblance  that  the 
silent  group  by  the  fire  bore  toward  him.  He  was  still 
talking,  and  the  wind  was  yet  blowing,  when  my  confused 
attention  was  aroused  by  a  remark  addressed  to  the  recum 
bent  figures. 

"  Now,  then,  which  on  ye  '11  see  the  stranger  up  the 
creek  to  Altascar's  to-morrow  ?  " 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  opposition  in  the  group, 
but  no  decided  answer. 


348  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

"  Kin  you  go,  Kerg  ?  " 

"Who's  to  look  up  stock  in  Strarberry  per-ar-ie?" 
This    seemed    to    imply    a    negative,  and    the  old  man 
turned  to  another  hopeful,  who  was  pulling  the  fur  from  a 
mangy  bearskin  on  which  he  was  lying,  with  an  expression 
as  though  it  were  somebody's  hair. 

"  Well,  Tom,  wot 's  to  hinder  you  from  goin'  ?  " 
" Mam's  goin'  to  Brown's  store  at  sun-up,  and  I  s'pose 
I  've  got  to  pack  her  and  the  baby  again." 

I  think  the  expression  of  scorn  this  unfortunate  youth 
exhibited  for  the  filial  duty  into  which  he  had  been  evi 
dently  beguiled  was  one  of  the  finest  things  I  had  ever 


"Wise?" 

Wise  deigned  no  verbal  reply,  but  figuratively  thrust  a 
worn  and  patched  boot  into  the  discourse.  The  old  man 
flushed  quickly. 

"  I  told  ye  to  get  Brown  to  give  you  a  pair  the  last  time 
you  war  down  the  river." 

"  Said  he  would  n't  without  an  order.  Said  it  was  like 
pulling  gum-teeth  to  get  the  money  from  you  even  then." 

There  was  a  grim  smile  at  this  local  hit  at  the  old  man's 
parsimony,  and  Wise,  who  was  clearly  the  privileged  wit  of 
the  family,  sank  back  in  honorable  retirement. 

"  Well,  Joe,  ef  your  boots  are  new,  and  you  are  n't  pes 
tered  with  wimmin  and  children,  p'r'aps  you  '11  go,"  said 
Tryan,  with  a  nervous  twitching,  intended  for  a  smile,  about 
a  mouth  not  remarkably  mirthful. 

Tom  lifted  a  pair  of  bushy  eyebrows  and  said  shortly,  — 

"  Got  no  saddle." 

"  Wot 's  gone  of  your  saddle  ?  " 

"  Kerg,  there  !  "  indicating  his  brother  with  a  look  such 
as  Cain  might  have  worn  at  the  sacrifice. 

"  You  lie ! "  returned  Kerg  cheerfully. 

Tryan  sprang  to  his  feet,  seizing  the  chair,  flourishing  it 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD  349 

around  his  head  and  gazing  furiously  in  the  hard  young  faces 
which  fearlessly  met  his  own.  But  it  was  only  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  his  arm  soon  dropped  by  his  side,  and  a  look  of  hope 
less  fatality  crossed  his  face.  He  allowed  me  to  take  the 
chair  from  his  hand,  and  I  was  trying  to  pacify  him  by  the 
assurance  that  I  required  no  guide,  when  the  irrepressible 
Wise  again  lifted  his  voice  — 

"  Theer  's  George  comin' !  Why  don't  ye  ask  him  ? 
He  '11  go  and  introduce  you  to  Don  Fernandy's  darter,  too, 
ef  you  ain't  pertickler." 

The  laugh  which  followed  this  joke,  which  evidently  had 
some  domestic  allusion  (the  general  tendency  of  rural 
pleasantry),  was  followed  by  a  light  step  on  the  platform, 
and  the  young  man  entered.  Seeing  a  stranger  present,  he 
stopped  and  colored,  made  a  shy  salute  and  colored  again, 
and  then,  drawing  a  box  from  the  corner,  sat  down,  his 
hands  clasped  tightly  together  and  his  very  handsome  bright 
blue  eyes  turned  frankly  on  mine. 

Perhaps  I  was  in  a  condition  to  receive  the  romantic  im 
pression  he  made  upon  me,  and  I  took  it  upon  myself  to 
ask  his  company  as  guide,  and  he  cheerfully  assented.  But 
some  domestic  duty  called  him  presently  away. 

The  fire  gleamed  brightly  on  the  hearth,  and,  no  longer 
resisting  the  prevailing  influence,  I  silently  watched  the  I 
spirting  flame,  listening  to  the  wind  which  continually  shook 
tiie  tenement.  Besides  the  one  chair,  which  had  acquire^ 
a  new  importance  in  my  eyes,  I  presently  discovered  a  crazy 
table  in  one  corner,  with  an  inkbottle  and  pen,  the  latter 
in  that  greasy  state  of  decomposition  peculiar  to  country 
taverns  and  farmhouses.  A  goodly  array  of  rifles  and 
double-barreled  guns  stocked  the  corner  j  half  a  dozen 
saddles  and  blankets  lay  near,  with  a  mild  flavor  of  the 
horse  about  them.  Some  deer  and  bear  skins  completed 
the  inventory.  As  I  sat  there,  with  the  silent  group  around 
me,  the  shadowy  gloom  within  and  the  dominant  wind 


350  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

without,  I  found  it  difficult  to  believe  I  had  ever  known  a 
different  existence.  My  profession  had  often  led  me  to 
wilder  scenes,  but  rarely  among  those  whose  unrestrained 
habits  and  easy  unconsciousness  made  me  feel  so  lonely 
and  uncomfortable.  I  shrank  closer  to  myself,  not  without 
grave  doubts  —  which  I  think  occur  naturally  to  people  in 
like  situations  —  that  this  was  the  general  rule  of  humanity, 
and  I  was  a  solitary  and  somewhat  gratuitous  exception. 

It  was  a  relief  when  a  laconic  announcement  of  supper 
by  a  weak-eyed  girl  caused  a  general  movement  in  the 
family.  We  walked  across  the  dark  platform,  which  led  to 
another  low-ceiled  room.  Its  entire  length  was  occupied 
by  a  table,  at  the  further  end  of  which  a  weak-eyed  woman 
was  already  taking  her  repast  as  she  at  the  same  time  gave 
nourishment  to  a  weak-eyed  baby.  As  the  formalities  of 
introduction  had  been  dispensed  with,  and  as  she  took  no 
notice  of  me,  I  was  enabled  to  slip  into  a  seat  without  dis 
composing  or  interrupting  her.  Tryan  extemporized  a  grace, 
and  the  attention  of  the  family  became  absorbed  in  bacon, 
potatoes,  and  dried  apples. 

The  meal  was  a  sincere  one.  Gentle  gurglings  at  the 
Upper  end  of  the  table  often  betrayed  the  presence  of 
ihe  "  wellspring  of  pleasure."  The  conversation  generally 
referred  to  the  labors  of  the  day,  and  comparing  notes  as 
to  the  whereabouts  of  missing  stock.  Yet  the  supper  was 
—such  a  vast  improvement  upon  the  previous  intellectual 
feast,  that  when  a  chance  allusion  of  mine  to  the  business 
of  my  visit  brought  out  the  elder  Tryan,  the  interest  grew 

r quite  exciting.  I  remember  he  inveighed  bitterly  against 
the  system  of  ranch-holding  by  the  "  Greasers,"  as  he  was 
pleased  to  term  the  native  Californians.  As  the  same  ideas 
have  been  sometimes  advanced  under  more  pretentious  cir- 
jyimstances,  they  may  be  worthy  of  record. 

"  Look  at  'em  holdin'  the  finest  grazin'  land  that  ever  lay 
\ .outer  doors  ?     Whar  's  the  papers  for  it  ?     Was  it  grants  ? 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD  351 

Mighty  fine  grants,  —  most  of  'em  made  arter  the  'Merri- 
kans  got  possession.  More  fools  the  'Merrikans  for  lettin' 
'em  hold  'em.  Wat  paid  for  'em  ?  'Merrikan  blood  and 
money. 

"  Did  n't  they  oughter  have  suthin'  out  of  their  native 
country  ?  Wot  for  ?  Did  theyjsver  improve  ?  Got  a  lot 
of  yaller-skinned  diggers,  not  so  sensible  as  niggers,  to  look 
arter  stock,  and  they  a-sittin'  home  and  smokin'.  With 
their  gold  and  silver  candlesticks,  and  missions,  and  cruci- 
fixens,  priests  and  graven  idols,  and  sich  ?  Them  sort 
things  wuren't  allowed  in  Mizzoori." 

At  the  mention  of  improvemenFs  I  involuntarily  lifted 

-jny  eyes,  and  met  the  half-laughing,  half-embarrassed  look 

of  George.     The  act  did  not  escape  detection,  and  I  had  at 

once  the  satisfaction  of   seeing  that  the  rest  of  the  family 

had  formed  an  offensive  alliance  against  us. 

"  It  was  afiin  nater  and  agin  God,"  added  Tryan.  "  God 
never  intended  gold  in  the  rocks  to  be  made  into  heathen 
candlesticks  and  crucifixens.  That 's  why  he  sent  'Merri- 
kans  here.  Nater  never  intended  such  a  climate  for  lazy 
-•  lopers.  She  never  gi'n  six  months'  sunshine  to  be  slept 
and-  emreteed  awa}r..'r 

How  long  he  continued,  and  with  what  further  illustra 
tion,  I  could  not  say,  for  I  took  an  early  opportunity  to 
escape  to  the  sitting-room.  I  was  soon  followed  by  George, 
who  called  me  to  an  open  door  leading  to  a  smaller  room, 
and  pointed  to  a  bed. 

"  You  'd  better  sleep  there  to-night,"  he  said  ;  "  you  '11  be 
more  comfortable,  and  I  '11  call  you  early." 

I  thanked  him,  and  would  have  asked  him  several  ques 
tions  which  were  then  troubling  me,  but  he  shyly  slipped 
to  the  door  and  vanished. 

A  shadow  seemed  to  fall  on  the  room  when  he  had  gone. 
The  "  boys  "  returned,  one  by  one,  and  shuffled  to  their  old 
places.  A  larger  log  was  thrown  on  the  fire,  and  the  huge 


852  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

chimney  glowed  like  a  furnace,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  melt 
or  subdue  a  single  line  of  the  hard  faces  that  it  lit.  Hall 
an  hour  later,  the  furs  which  had  served  as  chairs  by  day 
undertook  the  nightly  office  of  mattresses,  and  each  received 
its  owner's  full-length  figure.  Mr.  Tryan  had  not  re 
turned,  and  I  missed  George.  I  sat  there  until,  wakeful 
and  nervous,  I  saw  the  fire  fall  and  shadows  mount  the 
wall.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  rushing  of  the  wind 
and  the  snoring  of  the  sleepers.  At  last,  feeling  the  place 
insupportable,  I  seized  my  hat,  and,  opening  the  door,  ran 
out  briskly  into  the  night. 

The  acceleration  of  my  torpid  pulse  in  the  keen  fight 
with  the  wind,  whose  violence  was  almost  equal  to  that  of 
a  tornado,  and  the  familiar  faces  of  the  bright  stars  above 
me,  I  felt  as  a  blessed  relief.  I  ran,  not  knowing  whither, 
and  when  I  halted,  the  square  outline  of  the  house  was 
lost  in  the  alder-bushes.  An  uninterrupted  plain  stretched 
before  me,  like  a  vast  sea  beaten  flat  by  the  force  of  the 
gale.  As  I  kept  on  I  noticed  a  slight  elevation  toward  the 
horizon,  and  presently  my  progress  was  impeded  by  the  ascent 
of  an  Indian  mound.  It  struck  me  forcibly  as  resembling 
an  island  in  the  sea.  Its  height  gave  me  a  better  view  of 
the  expanding  plain.  But  even  here  I  found  no  rest.  The 
ridiculous  interpretation  Tryan  had  given  the  climate  was 
somehow  sung  in  my  ears  and  echoed  in  my  throbbing  pulse 
as,  guided  by  the  stars,  I  sought  the  house  again. 

But  I  felt  fresher  and  more  natural  as  I  stepped  upon 
the  platform.  The  door  of  the  lower  building  was  open, 
and  the  old  man  was  sitting  beside  the  table,  thumbing  the 
leaves  of  a  Bible  with  a  look  in  his  face  as  though  he  were 
hunting  up  prophecies  against  the  "  Greaser."  I  turned  to 
enter,  but  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  blanketed  figure 
-'lying  beside  the  house  on  the  platform.  The  broad  chest 
heaving  with  healthy  slumber,  and  the  open,  honest  face 
Were  familiar.  It  was  George,  who  had  given  up  his  bed  to 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD  353 

the  stranger  among  his  people.  I  was  about  to  wake  him, 
but  he  lay  so  peaceful  and  quiet,  I  felt  awed  and  hushed. 
And  I  went  to  bed  with  a  pleasant  impression  of  his  hand 
some  face  and  tranquil  figure  soothing  ine  to  sleep. 

I  was  awakened  the  next  morning  from  a  sense  of  lulled 
repose  and  grateful  silence  by  the  cheery  voice  of  George, 
who  stood  beside  my  bed  ostentatiously  twirling  a  riata, 
as  if  to  recall  the  duties  of  the  day  to  my  sleep-bewildered 
eyes.  I  looked  around  me.  The  wind  had  been  magically 
laid,  and  the  sun  shone  warmly  through  the  windows.  A 
dash  of  cold  water,  with  an  extra  chill  on,  from  the  tin  basin, 
helped  to  brighten  me.  It  was  still  early,  but  the  family 
had  already  breakfasted  and  dispersed,  and  a  wagon  wind 
ing  far  in  the  distance  showed  that  the  unfortunate  Tom 
had  already  "  packed  "  his  relatives  away.  I  felt  more 
cheerful,  —  there  are  few  troubles  Youth  cannot  distance 
vvith  the  start  of  a  good  night's  rest.  After  a  substantial 
breakfast,  prepared  by  George,  in  a  few  moments  we  were 
mounted  and  dashing  down  the  plain. 

We  followed  the  line  of  alder  that  defined  the  creek,  now 
dry  and  baked  with  summer's  heat,  but  which  in  winter, 
George  told  me,  overflowed  its  banks.  I  still  retain  a  vivid 
impression  of  that  morning's  ride  ;  the  far-off  mountains,  like 
silhouettes,  against  the  steel-blue  sky ;  the  crisp,  dry  air, 
and  the  expanding  track  before  me,  animated  often  by  the 
well-knit  figure  of  George  Tryan,  musical  with  jingling 
spurs  and  picturesque  with  flying  riata.  He  rode  a 
powerful  native  roan,  wild-eyed,  untiring  in  stride,  and  un 
broken  in  nature.  Alas  !  the  curves  of  beauty  were  con 
cealed  by  the  cumbrous  machillas  of  the  Spanish  saddle, 
which  levels  all  equine  distinctions.  The  single  rein  lay 
-4oosely  on  the  cruel  bit  that  can  gripe  and,  if  need  be, 
crush  the  jaw  it  controls. 

Again  the  illimitable  freedom  of  the  valley  rises  before 


354  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

.me  as  we  again  bear  down  into  sunlit  space.  Can  this  "be 
Chu-Chu,  staid  and  respectable  filly  of  American  pedigree, 
• — Chu-Chu,  forgetful  of  plank-roads  and  cobble  stones, 
wild  with  excitement,  twinkling  her  small  white  feet  be 
neath  me  ?  George  laughs  out  of  a  cloud  of  dust,  "  Give 
her  her  head;  don't  you  see  she  likes  it?"  and  Chu-Chu 
seems  to  like  it,  and,  whether  bitten  by  native  tarantula  into 
native  barbarism  or  emulous  of  the  roan,  "blood"  asserts 
itself,  and  in  a  moment  the  peaceful  servitude  of  years  is 
beaten  out  in  the  music  of  her  clattering  hoofs.  The  creek 
widens  to  a  deep  gully.  We  dive  into  it  and  up  on  the 
opposite  side,  carrying  a  moving  cloud  of  impalpable 
powder  with  us.  Cattle  are  scattered  over  the  plain, 
grazing  quietly  or  banded  together  in  vast  restless  herds. 
George  makes  a  wide,  indefinite  sweep  with  the  riata,  as 
if  to  include  them  all  in  his  vaquero's  loop,  and  says, 
"Ours!  " 

"  About  how  many,  George  ?  " 
"  Don't  know." 
-;  How  many  ?  " 

"  Well,  p'r'aps  three  thousand  head,"  says  George, 
reflecting.  "  We  don't  know ;  takes  five  men  to  look  'em  up 
and  keep  run." 

"  What  are  they  worth  ?  " 
"  About  thirty  dollars  a  head." 

I  make  a  rapid  calculation,  and  look  my  astonishment 
at  the  laughing  George.  Perhaps  a  recollection  of  the 
domestic  economy  of  the  Tryan  household  is  expressed  in 
that  look,  for  George  averts  his  eye  and  says  apologeti 
cally,  — 

"  I  've  tried  to  get  the  old  man  to  sell  and  build,  but  you 
know  he  says  it  ain't  no  use  to  settle  down  just  yet.  We 
must  keep  movin'.  In  fact,  he  built  the  shanty  for  that 
purpose,  lest  titles  should  fall  through,  and  we  ?d  have  to  get 
up  and  move  stakes  farther  down." 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  355 

Suddenly  his  quick  eye  detects  some  unusual  sight  in  a 
herd  we  are  passing,  and  with  an  exclamation  he  puts  his 
roan  into  the  centre  of  the  mass.  I  follow,  or  rather 
Chu-Chu  darts  after  the  roan,  and  in  a  few  moments  we 
are  in  the  midst  of  apparently  inextricable  horns  and  hoofs. 
"  Toro  I  "  shouts  George,  with  vaquero  enthusiasm,  and  the 
band  opens  a  way  for  the  swinging  riata.  I  can  feel  their 
steaming  breaths,  and  their  spume  is  cast  on  Chu-Chu's 
quivering  flank. 

Wild,  devilish-looking  beasts  are  they ;  not  such  shapes 
as  Jove  might  have  chosen  to  woo  a  goddess,  nor  such  as 
peacefully  range  the  downs  of  Devon,  but  lean  and  hungry 
Cassius-like  bovines,  economically  got  up  to  meet  the  ex 
igencies  of  a  six-months'  rainless  climate,  and  accustomed 
to  wrestle  with  the  distracting  wind  and  the  blinding 
dust. 

"  That 's  not  our  brand,"  says  George  ;  "they  're  strange 
stock,"  and  he  points  to  what  my  scientific  eye  recognizes 
as  the  astrological  sign  of  Venus  deeply  seared  in  the  brown 
flanks  of  the  bull  he  is  chasing.  But  the  herd  are  closing 
round  us  with  low  mutterings,  and  George  has  again  re 
course  to  the  authoritative  "  Toro,"  and  with  swinging 
riata  divides  the  "  bossy  bucklers  "  on  either  side.  When 
we  are  free,  and  breathing  somewhat  more  easily,  I  venture 
to  ask  George  if  they  ever  attack  any  one. 

"  Never  horsemen,  —  sometimes  footmen.  Not  through 
rage,  you  know,  but  curiosity.  They  think  a  man  and  his 
horse  are  one,  and  if  they  meet  a  chap  afoot,  they  run  him 
down  and  trample  him  under  hoof,  in  the  pursuit  of  know 
ledge.  But,"  adds  George,  "  here 's  the  lower  bench  of  the 
foothills,  and  here  's  Altascar's  corral,  and  that  white  build 
ing  you  see  yonder  is  the  casa." 

A  whitewashed  wall  inclosed  a  court  containing  another 
adobe  building,  baked  with  the  solar  beams  of  many 
summers.  Leaving  our  horses  in  the  charge  of  a  few  peons 


r 


356  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

in  the  courtyard,  who  were  basking  lazily  in  the  sun,  we 
entered  a  low  doorway,  where  a  deep  shadow  and  an  agree 
able  coolness  fell  upon  us,  as  sudden  and  grateful  as  a 
plunge  in  cool  water,  from  its  contrast  with  the  external 
glare  and  heat.  In  the  centre  of  a  low-ceiled  apartment  sat 
an  old  man  with  a  black  silk  handkerchief  tied  about  his 
head,  the  few  gray  hairs  that  escaped  from  its  folds  reliev 
ing  his  gamboge-colored  face.  The  odor  of  cigarritos  was 
as  incense  added  to  the  cathedral  gloom  of  the  building. 

As  Senor  Altaacar  rose  with  well-bred  gravity  to  receive 
us,  George  advanced  with  such  a  heightened  color,  and 
such  a  blending  of  tenderness  and  respect  in  his  manner, 
that  I  was  touched  to  the  heart  by  so  much  devotion  in  the 
careless  youth.  In  fact,  my  eyes  were  still  dazzled  by  the 
effect  of  the  outer  sunshine,  and  at  first  I  did  not  see  the 
white  teeth  and  black  eyes  of  Pepita,  who  slipped  into  the 
corridor  as  we  entered. 

It  was  no  pleasant  matter  to  disclose  particulars  of 
business  which  would  deprive  the  old  senor  of  the  greater 
part  of  that  land  we  had  just  ridden  over,  and  I  did  it  with 
great  embarrassment.  But  he  listened  calmly,  —  not  a 
muscle  of  his  dark  face  stirring,  —  and  the  smoke  curling 
placidly  from  his  lips  showed  his  regular  respiration.  When 
I  had  finished,  he  offered  quietly  to  accompany  us  to  the 
line  of  demarcation.  George  had  meanwhile  disappeared, 
but  a  suspicious  conversation  in  broken  Spanish  and  English 
in  the  corridor  betrayed  his  vicinity.  When  he  returned 
again,  a  little  absent-minded,  the  old  man,  by  far  the  coolesi 
and  most  self-possessed  of  the  party,  extinguished  his. 
black  silk  cap  beneath  that  stiff,  uncomely  sombrero  which 
all  native  Californians  affect.  A  serapa  thrown  over  his 
shoulders  hinted  that  he  was  waiting.  Horses  are  always 
ready  saddled  in  Spanish  ranches,  and  in  half  an  hour  from 
the  time  of  our  arrival  we  were  again  loping  in  the  staring 
sunlight. 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD  357 

But  not  as  cheerfully  as  before.  George  and  myself  were 
weighed  down  by  restraint,  and  Altascar  was  gravely  quiet. 
To  break  the  silence,  and  by  way  of  a  consolatory  essay,  I 
hinted  to  him  that  there  might  be  further  intervention  or 
f  ppeal,  but  the  proffered  oil  and  wine  were  returned  with  a 
cureless  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  sententious  "  Que 
bueno  ?  Your  courts  are  always  just." 

The  Indian  mound  of  the  previous  night's  discovery  was 
»  bearing  monument  of  the  new  line,  and  there  we  halted. 
V/e  were  surprised  to  find  the  old  man  Tryan  waiting  us. 
For  the  first  time  during  our  interview  the  old  Spaniard 
seemed  moved,  and  the  blood  rose  in  his  yellow  cheek. 
I  was  anxious  to  close  the  scene,  and  pointed  out  the  corner 
boundaries  as  clearly  as  my  recollection  served. 

"  The  deputies  will  be  here  to-morrow  to  run  the  lines 
from  this  initial  point,  and  there  will  be  no  further  trouble, 
I  believe,  gentlemen.'7 

Senor  Altascar  had  dismounted  and  was  gathering  a  few 
tufts  of  dried  grass  in  his  hands.  George  and  I  exchanged 
glances.  He  presently  arose  from  his  stooping  posture, 
and  advancing  to  within  a  few  paces  of  Joseph  Tryan,  said 
•  in  £  Toice  broken  with  passion,  — 

t;And  I,  Fernando  Jesus  Maria  Altascar,  put  you  in 
possession  of  my  land  in  the  fashion  of  my  country." 

He  threw  a  sod  to  each  of  the  cardinal  points. 

"  I  don't  know  your  courts,  your  judges,  or  your  corre- 
gidores.  Take  the  llano  !  —  and  take  this  with  it.  May 
the  drought  seize  your  cattle  till  their  tongues  hang  down 
as  long  as  those  of  your  lying  lawyers !  May  it  be  the 
.curse  and  torment  of  your  old  age,  as  you  and  yours  have 
made  it  of  mine  !  "  J 

We  stepped  between  the  principal  actors  in  this  scene, 
which  only  the  passion  of  Altascar  made  tragical,  but 
Tryan,  with  a  humility  but  ill  concealing  his  triumph,  in 
terrupted,  — 


358  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

"  Let  him  curse  on.  He  '11  find  'em  coming  home  t<j 
him  sooner  than  the  cattle  he  has  lost  through  his  sloth  and 
pride.  The  Lord  is  on  the  side  of  the  just,  as  well  as  agin 
all  slanderers  and  revilers." 

Altascar  but  half  guessed  the  meaning  of  the  Missourian, 
yet  sufficiently  to  drive  from  his  mind  all  but  the  extrava 
gant  power  of  his  native  invective. 

"  Stealer  of  the  sacrament !  Open  not !  —  open  not,  I 
say,  your  lying  Judas  lips  to  me  !  Ah  !  half-breed,  with 
the  soul  of  a  coyote  !  —  Car-r-r-ramba  !  " 

With  his  passion  reverberating  among  the  consonants 
like  distant  thunder,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  mane  of 
his  horse  as  though  it  had  been  the  gray  locks  of  his  adver 
sary,  swung  himself  into  the  saddle,  and  galloped  away. 

George  turned  to  me. 

"  Will  you  go  back  with  us  to-night  ?  " 

I  thought  of  the  cheerless  walls,  the  silent  figures  by  the 
fire,  and  the  roaring  wind,  and  hesitated. 

"  Well,  then,  good-by." 

"  Good-by,  George.'' 

Another  wring  of  the  hands,  and  we  parted.  I  had  not 
ridden  far,  when  I  turned  and  looked  back.  The  wind 
had  risen  early  that  afternoon,  and  was  already  sweeping 
across  the  plain.  A  cloud  of  dust  traveled  before  it,  and 
a  picturesque  figure  occasionally  emerging  therefrom  was 
my  last  indistinct  impression  of  George  Tryan. 

PART  II 

IN  THE  FLOOD 

Three  months  after  the  survey  of  the  Espiritu  Santo 
rancho  I  was  again  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento.  But 
a  general  and  terrible  visitation  had  erased  the  memory  of 
that  event  as  completely  as  I  supposed  it  had  obliterated 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD  359 

the  boundary  monuments  I  had  planted.  The  great  flood 
of  1861-62  was  at  its  height  when,  obeying  some  indefi 
nite  yearning,  I  took  my  carpetbag  and  embarked  for  the 
inundated  valley. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  bright  cabin  win 
dows  of  the  Golden  City  but  night  deepening  over  the 
water.  The  only  sound  was  the  pattering  rain,  and  that 
had  grown  monotonous  for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  did 
not  disturb  the  national  gravity  of  my  countrymen  as  they 
silently  sat  around  the  cabin  stove.  Some  on  errands  of 
relief  to  friends  and  relatives  wore  anxious  faces,  and  con 
versed  soberly  on  the  one  absorbing  topic.  Others  like 
myself,  attracted  by  curiosity,  listened  eageily  to  newer 
details.  But,  with  that  human  disposition  to  seize  upon 
any  circumstance  that  might  give  chance  event  the  exagger 
ated  importance  of  instinct,  I  was  half  conscious  of  some 
thing  more  than  curiosity  as  an  impelling  motive. 

The  dripping  of  rain,  the  low  gurgle  of  water,  and  a 
leaden  sky  greeted  us  the  next  morning  as  we  lay  beside 
the  half-submerged  levee  of  Sacramento.  Here,  however, 
the  novelty  of  boats  to  convey  us  to  the  hotels  was  an 
appeal  that  was  irresistible.  I  resigned  myself  to  a  drip 
ping  rubber-cased  mariner  called  Joe,  and  wrapping  my 
self  in  a  shining  cloak  of  the  like  material,  about  as  sugges 
tive  of  warmth  as  court-plaster  might  have  been,  took  my 
seat  in  the  stern  sheets  of  his  boat.  It  was  no  slight 
inward  struggle  to  part  from  the  steamer,  that  to  most  of 
the  passengers  was  the  only  visible  connecting  link  between 
us  and  the  dry  and  habitable  earth,  but  we  pulled  away 
and  entered  the  city,  stemming  a  rapid  current  as  we  shot 
the  levee. 

We  glided  up  the  long  level  of  K  Street,  —  once  a  cheer 
ful  busy  thoroughfare,  now  distressing  in  its  silent  desola 
tion.  The  turbid  water,  which  seemed  to  meet  the  horizon 
edge  before  us,  flowed  at  right  angles  in  sluggish  rivers 


360  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

through  the  streets.  Nature  had  revenged  herself  on  the 
local  taste  by  disarraying  the  regular  rectangles  by  hud 
dling  houses  on  street  corners,  where  they  presented  abrupt 

v  gables  to  the  current,  or  by  capsizing  them  in  compact  ruin. 
Crafts  of  all  kinds  were  gliding  in  and  out  of  low-arched 
doorways.  The  water  was  over  the  toj^oLJJi^ fences  sur 
rounding  well-kept  gardens,  in  the  first  stories  of  hotels 
and  private  dwellings,  trailing  its  slime  on  velvet  carpets  as 
well  as  roughly  boarded  floors.  And  a  silence  quite  as  sug 
gestive  as  the  visible  desolation  was  in  the  voiceless  streets 
that  no  longer  echoed  to  carriage-wheel  or  footfall.  The 
low  ripple  of  water,  the  occasional  splash  of  oars,  or  the 
warning  cry  of  boatmen  were  the  few  signs  of  life  and  hab 
itation. 

With  such  scenes  before  my  eyes  and  such  sounds  in  my 
ears,  as  I  lie  lazily  in  the  boat,  is  mingled  the  song  of  my 
gondolier,  who  sings  to  the  music  of  his  oars.  It  is  not 
quite  as  romantic  as  his  brother  of  the  Lido  might  impro 
vise,  but  my  Yankee  Giuseppe  has  the  advantage  of 

—earnestness  and  energy,  and  gives  a  graphic  description  of 
the  terrors  of  the  past  week  and  of  noble  deeds  of  self-sac 
rifice  and  devotion,  occasionally  pointing  out  a  balcony  from 
which  some  California  Bianca  or  Laura  had  been  snatched, 
half-clothed  and  famished.  Giuseppe  is  otherwise  peculiar, 
and  refuses  the  proffered  fare,  for  —  am  I  not  a  citizen  of 
San  Francisco,  which  was  first  to  respond  to  the  suffering 
cry  of  Sacramento  ?  and  is  not  he,  Giuseppe,  a  member  of 
the  Howard  Society  ?  No,  Giuseppe  is  poor,  but  cannot 
take  my  money.  Still,  if  I  must  spend  it,  there  is  the 
Howard  Society,  and  the  women  and  children  without  food 
and  clothing  at  the  Agricultural  Hall. 

I  thank  the  generous  gondolier,  and  we  go  to  the  Hall, 
—  a  dismal,  bleak  place,  ghastly  with  the  memories  of  last 
year's  opulence  and  plenty,  — and  here  Giuseppe's  fare  is 
swelled  by  the  stranger's  mite.  But  here  Giuseppe  tells 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD  361 

me  of  the  "  Eelief  Boat "  which  leaves  for  the  flooded  dis 
trict  in  the  interior,  and  here,  profiting  by  the  lesson  ha 
has  taught  me,  I  make  the  resolve  to  turn  my  curiosity  to 
the  account  of  others,  and  am  accepted  of  those  who  go 
forth  to  succor  and  help  the  afflicted.  Giuseppe  takes 
charge  of  my  carpetbag,  and  does  not  part  from  me  until  I 
stand  on  the  slippery  deck  of  Relief  Boat  No.  3. 

An  hour  later  I  am  in  the  pilot-house,  looking  down 
upon  what  was  once  the  channel  of  a  peaceful  river.  But 
its  banks  are  only  defined  by  tossing  tufts  of  willow  washed 
by  the  long  swell  that  breaks  over  a  vast  inland  sea. 
Stretches  of  tule  land  fertilized  by  its  once  regular 
channel,  and  dotted  by  nourishing  ranches,  are  now  cleanly 
erased.  The  cultivated  profile  of  the  old  landscape  had 
faded.  Dotted  lines  in  symmetrical  perspective  mark 
orchards  that  are  buried  and  chilled  in  the  turbid  flood. 
The  roofs  of  a  few  farmhouses  are  visible,  and  here  and 
there  the  smoke  curling  from  chimneys  of  half-submerged 
tenements  shows  an  undaunted  life  within.  Cattle  and 
sheep  are  gathered  on  Indian  mounds,  waiting  the  fate  of 
their  companions,  whose  carcases  drift  by  us  or  swing  in 
eddies  with  the  wrecks  of  barns  and  outhouses.  Wagons 
are  stranded  everywhere  where  the  tide  could  carry  them. 
As  I  wipe  the  moistened  glass,  I  see  nothing  but  water., 
pattering  on  the  deck  from  the  lowering  clouds,  dashing 
against  the  window,  dripping  from  the  willows,  hissing  by 
the  wheels,  everywhere  washing,  coiling,  sapping,  hurrying 
in  rapids,  or  swelling  at  last  into  deeper  and  vaster  lakes, 
awful  in  their  suggestive  quiet  and  concealment. 

As  day  fades  into  night  the  monotony  of  this  strange 
prospect  grows  oppressive.  I  seek  the  engine-room,  and 
in  the  company  of  some  of  the  few  half-drowned  sufferers 
we  have  already  picked  up  from  temporary  rafts,  I  forget 
the  general  aspect  of  desolation  in  their  individual  misery. 
Later  we  meet  the  San  Francisco  packet,  and  transfer  a 


362  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

number  of  our  passengers.  From  them  we  learn  how 
inward-bound  vessels  report  to  having  struck  the  well-defined 
channel  of  the  Sacramento  fifty  miles  beyond  the  bar. 
There  is  a  voluntary  contribution  taken  among  the  generous 
travelers  for  the  use  of  our  afflicted,  and  we  part  company 
with  a  hearty  "  God  speed  "  on  either  side.  But  our  sig 
nal  lights  are  not  far  distant  before  a  familiar  sound  comes 
back  to  us,  —  an  indomitable  Yankee  cheer,  —  which  scat 
ters  the  gloom. 

Our  course  is  altered,  and  we  are  steaming  over  the 
obliterated  banks  far  in  the  interior.  Once  or  twice  black 
objects  loom  up  near  us,  —  the  wrecks  of  houses  floating 
by.  There  is  a  slight  rift  in  the  sky  towards  the  north, 
and  a  few  bearing  stars  to  guide  us  over  the  waste.  As  we 
penetrate  into  shallower  water,  it  is  deemed  advisable  to 
divide  our  party  into  smaller  boats,  and  diverge  over  the 
submerged  prairie.  I  borrow  a  pea-coat  of  one  of  the  crew, 
and  in  that  practical  disguise  am  doubtfully  permitted  to 
pass  into  one  of  the  boats.  We  give  way  northerly.  It 
is  quite  dark  yet,  although  the  rift  of  cloud  has  widened. 

It  must  have  been  about  three  o'clock,  and  we  were 
lying  upon  our  oars  in  an  eddy  formed  by  a  clump  of  cot- 
tonwood,  and  the  light  of  the  steamer  is  a  solitary  bright 
star  in  the  distance,  when  the  silence  is  broken  by  the 
"  bow  oar  "  :  — 

"  Light  ahead.'' 

All  eyes  are  turned  in  that  direction.  In  a  few  seconds 
a  twinkling  light  appears,  shines  steadily,  and  again  disap 
pears,  as  if  by  the  shifting  position  of  some  black  objeci 
apparently  drifting  close  upon  us. 

"  Stern,  all !  —  a  steamer  !  " 

"  Hold  hard,  there  !  Steamer  be  d — d !  "  is  the  replj 
of  the  coxswain.  "  It  's  a  house,  and  a  big  one  too." 

It  is  a  big  one,  looming  in  the  starlight  like  a  huge  frag* 
ment  of  the  darkness.  The  light  comes  from  a  single 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD  863 

candle  which  shines  through  a  window  as  the  great  shape 
swings  by.  Some  recollection  is  drifting  back  to  me  with 
it,  as  I  listen  with  beating  heart. 

"  There  's  some  one  in  it,  by  heavens  !  Give  way,  boys, 
—  lay  her  alongside.  Handsomely,  now !  The  door  'a 
fastened  ;  try  the  window  ;  no  !  here  's  another  !  " 

In  another  moment  we  are  trampling  in  the  water,  which 
washes  the  floor  to  the  depth  of  several  inches.  It  is  a 
large  room,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  an  old  man  is  sit 
ting,  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  holding  a  candle  in  one  hand, 
and  apparently  absorbed  in  the  book  he  holds  with  the 
other.  I  spring  toward  him  with  an  exclamation  :  — 

"  Joseph  Tryan  !  " 

He  does  not  move.  We  gather  closer  to  him,  and  I  lay 
my  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  and  say,  — 

"  Look  up,  old  man,  look  up  !  Your  wife  and  children, 
where  are  they  ?  The  boys,  —  George  !  Are  they  here  ? 
are  they  safe  ?  " 

He  raises  his  head  slowly,  and  turns  his  eyes  to  mine, 
and  we  involuntarily  recoil  before  his  look.  It  is  a  calm 
and  quiet  glance,  free  from  fear,  anger,  or  pain  ;  but  it 
somehow  sends  the  blood  curdling  through  our  veins.  He 
bowed  his  head  over  his  book  again,  taking  no  further 
notice  of  us.  The  men  look  at  me  compassionately  and 
hold  their  peace.  I  make  one  more  effort :  — 

"  Joseph  Tryan,  don't  you  know  me  —  the  surveyor  who 
surveyed  your  ranch,  —  the  Espiritu  Santo  ?  Look  up,  old 
man  ! " 

He  shuddered  and  wrapped  himself  closer  in  his  blanket. 
Presently  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  The  surveyor  who  sur 
veyed  your  ranch,  Espiritu  Santo,"  over  and  over  again,  as 
though  it  were  a  lesson  he  was  trying  to  fix  in  his  mem 
ory. 

I  was  turning  sadly  to  the  boatmen,  when  he  suddenly 
caught  me  fearfully  by  the  hand,  and  said :  — 


864  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

"  Hush ! " 

We  were  silent. 

"  Listen ! "  He  puts  his  arm  around  my  neck,  and 
whispers  in  my  ear,  "  I  'm  a-moving  off!  " 

"Moving  off?" 

"  Hush  !  Don't  speak  so  loud.  Moving  off !  Ah !  wot 's 
that  ?  Don't  you  hear  ?  —  there  !  —  listen  !  " 

We  listen,  and  hear  the  water  gurgle  and  click  beneath 
the  floor. 

"  It 's  them  wot  he  sent !  —  old  Altascar  sent.  They  've 
been  here  all  night.  I  heard  'em  first  in  the  creek,  when 
they  came  to  tell  the  old  man  to  move  farther  off.  They 
came  nearer  and  nearer.  They  whispered  under  the  door, 
and  I  saw  their  eyes  on  the  step,  —  their  cruel,  hard  eyes. 
Ah  !  why  don't  they  quit  ?  " 

I  tell  the  men  to  search  the  room  and  see  if  they  can 
find  any  farther  traces  of  the  family,  while  Tryan  resumes 
his  old  attitude.  It  is  so  much  like  the  figure  I  remember 
on  the  breezy  night,  that  a  superstitious  feeling  is  fast  over 
coming  me.  When  they  have  returned,  I  tell  them  briefly 
what  I  know  of  him,  and  the  old  man  murmurs  again,  — 

"  Why  don't  they  quit,  then  ?  They  have  the  stock,  — 
all  gone  —  gone,  —  gone  for  the  hides  and  hoofs,"  and  he 
groans  bitterly. 

"  There  are  other  boats  below  us.  The  shanty  cannot 
have  drifted  far,  and  perhaps  the  family  are  safe  by  this 
time,"  says  the  coxswain  hopefully. 

We  lift  the  old  man  up,  for  he  is  quite  helpless,  and 
carry  him  to  the  boat.  He  is  still  grasping  the  Bible  in  his 
right  hand,  though  its  strengthening  grace  is  blank  to  his 
vacant  eye,  and  he  cowers  in  the  stern  as  we  pull  slowly  to 
the  steamer,  while  a  pale  gleam  in  the  sky  shows  the  com 
ing  day. 

I  was  weary  with  excitement,  and  when  we  reached  the 
steamer,  and  I  had  seen  Joseph  Tryan  comfortably  be- 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD  AND  FIELD  365 

stowed,  I  wrapped  myself  in  a  blanket  near  the  boiler  and 
presently  fell  asleep.  But  even  then  the  figure  of  the  old 
man  often  started  before  me,  and  a  sense  of  uneasiness  about 
George  made  a  strong  undercurrent  to  my  drifting  dreams. 
I  was  awakened  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  by 
the  engineer,  who  told  me  one  of  the  old  man's  sons  had 
been  picked  up  and  was  now  on  board. 

"  Is  it  George  Tryan  ?  "  I  ask  quickly. 

"  Don't  know  ;  but  he  's  a  sweet  one,  whoever  he  is," 
adds  the  engineer,  with  a  smile  at  some  luscious  remem 
brance.  "  You  '11  find  him  for'ard." 

I  hurry  to  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  find  not  George,  but 
the  irrepressible  Wise,  sitting  011  a  coil  of  rope,  a  little 
dirtier  and  rather  more  dilapidated  than  I  can  remember 
having  seen  him. 

He  is  examining,  with  apparent  admiration,  some  rough, 
dry  clothes  that  have  been  put  out  for  his  disposal.  I  can 
not  help  thinking  that  circumstances  have  somewhat  exalted 
his  usual  cheerfulness.  He  puts  me  at  ease  by  at  once 
addressing  me  :  — 

"  These  are  high  old  times,  ain't  they  ?  I  say,  what  do 
you  reckon  's  become  o'  them  thar  bound'ry  moniments  you 
stuck  ?  Ah  !  " 

The  pause  which  succeeds  this  outburst  is  the  effect  of  a 
spasm  of  admiration  at  a  pair  of  high  boots,  which,  by  great 
exertion,  he  has  at  last  pulled  on  his  feet. 

"  So  you  've  picked  up  the  ole  man  in  the  shanty,  clean 
crazy  ?  He  must  have  been  soft  to  have  stuck  there  instead 
o'  leavin'  with  the  old  woman.  Didn't  know  me  frcni 
Adam  ;  took  me  for  George  !  " 

At  this  affecting  instance  of  paternal  forgetfulness,  Wise 
was  evidently  divided  between  amusement  and  chagrin.  I 
took  advantage  of  the  contending  emotions  to  ask  about 
George. 

"  Don't  know  whar  he  is  !     If  he  'd  tended  stock  instead 


366  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

of  running  about  the  prairie,  packin'  off  wimmin  and  chil 
dren,  he  might  have  saved  suthin'.  He  lost  every  hoof  and 
hide,  I  '11  bet  a  cooky  !  Say,  you,"  to  a  passing  boatman, 
" when  are  you  goin'  to  give  us  some  grub ?  I'm  hungry 
'nough  to  skin  and  eat  a  hoss.  Reckon  I  '11  turn  butcher 
when  things  is  dried  up,  and  save  hides,  horns,  and  taller." 

I  could  not  but  admire  this  indomitable  energy,  which 
under  softer  climatic  influences  might  have  borne  such 
goodly  fruit. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  you  '11  do,  Wise  ?  "     I  ask. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  to  do  now,"  says  the  practical  young 
man.  "  I  '11  have  to  lay  over  a  spell,  I  reckon,  till  things 
comes  straight.  The  land  ain't  worth  much  now,  and  won't 
be,  I  dessay,  for  some  time.  Wonder  whar  the  ole  man  '11 
drive  stakes  next." 

"  I  meant  as  to  your  father  and  George,  Wise." 

"  Oh,  the  ole  man  and  I  '11  go  on  to  Miles's,  whar  Tom 
packed  the  old  woman  and  babies  last  week.  George  '11 
turn  up  somewhar  atween  this  and  Altascar's,  ef  he  ain't 
thar  now." 

I  ask  how  the  Altascars  have  suffered. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  ain't  lost  much  in  stock.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  George  helped  him  drive  'em  up  the  foothills. 
And  his  casa  's  built  too  high.  Oh,  thar  ain't  any  water 
H^thar,  you  bet.  Ah  !  "  says  Wise,  with  reflective  admiration, 
"  those  Greasers  ain't  the  darned  fools  people  thinks  'em. 
'11  bet  thar  ain't  one  swamped  out  in  all  'er  Californy." 
But  the  appearance  of  "  grub  "  cut  this  rhapsody  short. 

"  I  shall  keep  on  a  little  farther,"  I  say,  "  and  try  to 
find  George." 

Wise  stared  a  moment  at  this  eccentricity  until  a  new 
light  dawned  upon  him. 

"  I  don't  think  you  '11  save  much.  What 's  the  percent 
age,  —  workin'  on  shares,  eh  ?  " 

I  answer  that  I  am  only  curious,  which  I  feel  lessens  his 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD  367 

opinion  of  me,  and  with  a  sadder  feeling  than  his  assurance 
of  George's  safety  might  warrant,  I  walked  away. 

From  others  whom  we  picked  up  from  time  to  time  we 
heard  of  George's  self-sacrificing  devotion,  with  the  praises 
of  the  many  he  had  helped  and  rescued.  But  I  did  not 
feel  disposed  to  return  until  I  had  seen  him,  and  soon  pre 
pared  myself  to  take  a  boat  to  the  lower  valda  of  the 
foothills,  and  visit  Altascar.  I  soon  perfected  my  arrange 
ments,  bade  farewell  to  Wise,  and  took  a  last  look  at  the 
old  man,  who  was  sitting  by  the  furnace  fires  quite  passive 
and  composed.  Then  our  boat-head  swung  round,  pulled 
by  sturdy  and  willing  hands. 

It  was  again  raining,  and  a  disagreeable  wind  had  risen. 
Our  course  lay  nearly  west,  and  we  soon  knew  by  the  strong 
current  that  we  were  in  the  creek  of  the  Espiritu  Santo. 
From  time  to  time  the  wrecks  of  barns  were  seen,  and  we 
passed  many  half-submerged  willows  hung  with  farming 
implements. 

We  emerge  at  last  into  a  broad  silent  sea.  It  is  the 
llano  de  Espiritu  Santo.  As  the  wind  whistles  by  me, 
piling  the  shallower  fresh  water  into  mimic  waves,  I  go 
back,  in  fancy,  to  the  long  ride  of  October  over  that  bound 
less  plain,  and  recall  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  distant  hills 
which  are  now  lost  in  the  lowering  clouds.  The  men  are 
rowing  silently,  and  I  find  my  mind,  released  from  its  ten 
sion,  growing  benumbed  and  depressed  as  then.  The  water, 
too,  is  getting  more  shallow  as  we  leave  the  banks  of  the 
creek,  and  with  my  hand  dipped  listlessly  over  the  thwarts, 
I  detect  the  tops  of  chimisal,  which  shows  the  tide  to  have 
somewhat  fallen.  There  is  a  black  mound,  bearing  to  the 
north  of  the  line  of  alder,  making  an  adverse  current,  which, 
as  we  sweep  to  the  right  to  avoid  it,  I  recognize.  We  pull 
close  alongside,  and  I  call  to  the  men  to  stop. 

There  was  a  stake  driven  near  its  summit  with  the 
initials,  "  L.  E.  S.  I."  Tied  halfway  down  was  a  curi- 


368  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

ously  worked  riata.  It  was  George's.  It  had  been  cut 
with  some  sharp  instrument,  and  the  loose  gravelly  soil  of 
the  mound  was  deeply  dented  with  horse's  hoofs.  The 
stake  was  covered  with  horsehairs.  It  was  a  record,  but 
no  clue. 

The  wind  had  grown  more  violent,  as  we  still  fought 
our  way  forward,  resting  and  rowing  by  turns,  and  oftener 
"poling"  the  shallower  surface,  but  the  old  valda,  or 
bench,  is  still  distant.  My  recollection  of  the  old  survey 
enables  me  to  guess  the  relative  position  of  the  meander- 
ings  of  the  creek,  and  an  occasional  simple  professional 
experiment  to  determine  the  distance  gives  my  crew  the 
fullest  faith  in  my  ability.  Night  overtakes  us  in  our  im 
peded  progress.  Our  condition  looks  more  dangerous  than 
it  really  is,  but  I  urge  the  men,  many  of  whom  are  still  new 
in  this  mode  of  navigation,  to  greater  exertion  by  assurance 
of  perfect  safety  and  speedy  relief  ahead.  We  go  on  in 
this  way  until  about  eight  o'clock,  and  ground  by  the  wil 
lows.  We  have  a  muddy  walk  for  a  few  hundred  yards 
before  we  strike  a  dry  trail,  and  simultaneously  the  white 
walls  of  Altascar's  appear  like  a  snow-bank  before  us. 
Lights  are  moving  in  the  courtyard  ;  but  otherwise  the  old 
tomb-like  repose  characterizes  the  building. 

One  of  the  peons  recognized  me  as  I  entered  the  court, 
and  Altascar  met  me  on  the  corridor. 

I  was  too  weak  to  do  more  than  beg  his  hospitality  for 
the  men  who  had  dragged  wearily  with  me.  He  looked  at 
my  hand,  which  still  unconsciously  held  the  broken  riata. 
I  began,  wearily,  to  tell  him  about  George  and  my  fears? 
but  with  a  gentler  courtesy  than  was  even  his  wont,  he 
gravely  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Poco  a  poco,  senor,  —  not  now.  You  are  tired,  you 
have  hunger,  you  have  cold.  Necessary  it  is  you  should 
have  peace." 

He  took  us  into  a  small  room  and  poured  out  some  French 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD  369 

cognac,  which  he  gave  to  the  men  that  had  accompanied 
me.  They  drank,  and  threw  themselves  before  the  fire  in 
the  larger  room.  The  repose  of  the  building  was  intensified  \ 
that  night,  and  I  even  fancied  that  the  footsteps  on  the  cor 
ridor  were  lighter  and  softer.  The  old  Spaniard's  habitual 
gravity  was  deeper ;  we  might  have  been  shut  out  from  the 
world  as  well  as  the  whistling  storm,  behind  those  ancient 
walls  with  their  time-worn  inheritor.  « 

Before  I  could  repeat  my  inquiry  he  retired.  In  a  few 
minutes  two  smoking  dishes  of  chupa  with  coffee  were 
placed  before  us,  and  my  men  ate  ravenously.  I  drank 
the  coffee,  but  my  excitement  and  weariness  kept  down  the 
instincts  of  hunger. 

I  was  sitting  sadly  by  the  fire  when  he  reentered. 

"  You  have  eat  ?  " 

I  said,  "  Yes,"  to  please  him. 

"  Bueno,  eat  when  you  can,  —  food  and  appetite  are  not 
always." 

He  said  this  with  that  Sancho-like  simplicity  with  which 
most  of  his  countrymen  utter  a  proverb,  as  though  it  were 
an  experience  rather  than  a  legend,  and,  taking  the  riata 
from  the  floor,  held  it  almost  tenderly  before  him. 

"  It  was  made  by  me,  senor." 

"  I  kept  it  as  a  clue  to  him,  Don  Altascar,"  I  said. 
"  If  I  could  find  him  "  — 

"  He  is  here." 

"Here!  and"  —  but  I  could  not  say,  "well!"  I 
understood  the  gravity  of  the  old  man's  face,  the  hushed 
footfalls,  the  tomb-like  repose  of  the  building,  in  an  electric 
flash  of  consciousness :  I  held  the  clue  to  the  broken  riata 
at  last.  Altascar  took  my  hand,  and  we  crossed  the  corri 
dor  to  a  sombre  apartment.  A  few  tall  candles  were  burn 
ing  in  sconces  before  the  window. 

In  an  alcove  there  was  a  deep  bed  with  its  counterpane, 
.pillows,  and  sheets  heavily  edged  with  lace,  in  all  that 


370  EAKLIER   SKETCHES 

splendid  luxury  which  the  humblest  of  these  strange  people 
lavish  upon  this  single  item  of  their  household.  I  stepped 
beside  it  and  saw  George  lying,  as  I  had  seen  him  once 
before,  peacefully  at  rest.  But  a  greater  sacrifice  than  that 
he  had  known  was  here,  and  his  generous  heart  was  stilled 
forever. 

"  He  was  honest  and  brave,"  said  the  old  man,  and 
turned  away. 

There  was  another  figure  in  the  room  ;  a  heavy  shawl 
drawn  over  her  graceful  outline,  and  her  long  black  hair 
hiding  the  hands  that  buried  her  downcast  face.  I  did  not 
seem  to  notice  her,  and,  retiring  presently,  left  the  loving 
*ind  loved  together. 

When  we  were  again  beside  the  crackling  fire,  in  the 
shifting  shadows  of  the  great  chamber,  Altascar  told  me 
how  he  had  that  morning  met  the  horse  of  George  Tryan 
swimming  on  the  prairie  ;  how  that,  farther  on,  he  found 
him  lying,  quite  cold  and  dead,  with  no  marks  or  bruises 
on  his  person ;  that  he  had  probably  become  exhausted  in 
fording  the  creek,  and  that  he  had  as  probably  reached  the 
mound  only  to  die  for  want  of  that  help  he  had  so  freely 
given  to  others  ;  that,  as  a  last  act,  he  had  freed  his  horse. 
These  incidents  were  corroborated  by  many  who  collected 
in  the  great  chamber  that  evening,  —  women  and  children, 
—  most  of  them  succored  through  the  devoted  energies  of 
him  who  lay  cold  and  lifeless  above. 

He  was  buried  in  the  Indian  mound,  —  the  single  spot 
of  strange  perennial  greenness,  which  the  poor  aborigines 
had  raised  above  the  dusty  plain.  A  little  slab  of  sand 
stone  with  the  initials  "  G.  T."  is  his  monument,  and  one 
of  the  bearings  of  the  initial  corner  of  the  new  survey  of 
the  Espfritu  Santo  rancho. 


WAITING  FOE  THE  SHIP 

A  FORT  POINT  IDYL 

ABOUT  an  hour's  ride  from  the  Plaza  there  is  a  high 
bluff  with  the  ocean  breaking  uninterruptedly  along  its 
rocky  beach.  There  are  several  cottages  on  the  sands, 
which  look  as  if  they  had  recently  been  cast  up  by  a  heavy 
sea.  The  cultivated  patch  behind  each  tenement  is  fenced 
in  by  bamboos,  broken  spars,  and  driftwood.  With  its  few 
green  cabbages  and  turnip-tops,  each  garden  looks  something 
like  an  aquarium  with  the  water  turned  off.  In  fact  you 
would  not  be  surprised  to  meet  a  merman  digging  among 
the  potatoes,  or  a  mermaid  milking  a  sea-cow  hard  by. 

Near  this  place  formerly  arose  a  great  semaphoric  tele 
graph,  with  its  gaunt  arms  tossed  up  against  the  horizon. 
It  has  been  replaced  by  an  observatory,  connected  with  an 
electric  nerve  to  the  heart  of  the  great  commercial  city. 
From  this  point  the  incoming  ships  are  signaled,  and  again 
checked  off  at  the  City  Exchange.  And  while  we  are  here, 
looking  for  the  expected  steamer,  let  me  tell  you  a  story. 

Not  long  ago,  a  simple,  hard-working  mechanic  had 
amassed  sufficient  by  diligent  labor  in  the  mines  to  send 
home  for  his  wife  and  two  children.  He  arrived  in  San 
Francisco  a  month  before  the  time  the  ship  was  due,  for  he 
was  a  Western  man,  and  had  made  the  overland  journey, 
and  knew  little  of  ships  or  seas  or  gales.  He  procured 
work  in  the  city,  but  as  the  time  approached  he  would  go 
to  the  shipping  office  regularly  every  day.  The  month 
passed,  but  the  ship  came  not ;  then  a  month  and  a  week, 
two  weeks,  three  weeks,  two  months,  and  then  a  year. 


372  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

The  rough,  patient  face,  with  soft  lines  overlying  its  hard 
features,  which  had  become  a  daily  apparition  at  the  ship 
ping-agent's,  then  disappeared.  It  turned  up  one  afternoon 
at  the  observatory  as  the  setting  sun  relieved  the  operator 
from  his  duties.  There  was  something  so  childlike  arid 
simple  in  the  few  questions  asked  by  this  stranger,  touching 
his  business,  that  the  operator  spent  some  time  to  explain. 
When  the  mystery  of  signals  and  telegraphs  was  unfolded, 
the  stranger  had  one  more  question  to  ask.  "  How  long 
might  a  vessel  be  absent  before  they  would  give  up  expect 
ing  her  ?  "  The  operator  could  n't  tell  ;  it  would  depend 
on  circumstances.  Would  it  be  a  year  ?  Yes,  it  might  be 
a  year,  and  vessels  had  been  given  up  for  lost  after  two 
years  and  had  come  home.  The  stranger  put  his  rough 
hand  on  the  operator's,  and  thanked  him  for  his  "  troubil," 
and  went  away. 

Still  the  ship  came  not.  Stately  clippers  swept  into  the 
Gate,  and  merchantmen  went  by  with  colors  flying,  and 
the  welcoming  gun  of  the  steamer  often  reverberated  among 
the  hills.  Then  the  patient  face,  with  the  old  resigned 
expression,  but  a  brighter,  wistful  look  in  the  eye,  was 
regularly  met  on  the  crowded  decks  of  the  steamer  as  she 
disembarked  her  living  freight.  He  may  have  had  a  dimly 
defined  hope  that  the  missing  ones  might  yet  come  this 
way,  as  only  another  road  over  that  strange  unknown  ex 
panse.  But  he  talked  with  ship  captains  and  sailors,  and 
even  this  last  hope  seemed  to  fail.  When  the  careworn 
face  and  bright  eyes  were  presented  again  at  the  observa 
tory,  the  operator,  busily  engaged,  could  not  spare  time  to 
answer  foolish  interrogatories,  so  he  went  away.  But  as 
night  fell,  he  was  seen  sitting  on  the  rocks  with  his  face 
turned  seaward,  and  was  seated  there  all  that  night. 
^  When  he  became  hopelessly  insane,  for  that  was  what  the 
physicians  said  made  his  eyes  so  bright  and  wistful,  he  was 
cared  for  by  a  fellow  craftsman  who  had  known  his  troubles. 


WAITING  FOR   THE   SHIP  373 

He  was  allowed  to  indulge  his  fancy  of  going  out  to  watch 
for  the  ship,  in  which  she  "  and  the  children"  were,  at  night, 
when  no  one  else  was  watching.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  ship  would  come  in  at  night.  This,  and  the 
idea  that  he  would  relieve  the  operator,  who  would  be  tired 
with  watching  all  day,  seemed  to  please  him.  So  he  went 
out  and  relieved  the  operator  every  night ! 

For  two  years  the  ships  came  and  went.  He  was  there 
to  see  the  outward-bound  clipper,  and  greet  her  on  her 
return.  He  was  known  only  by  a  few  who  frequented  the 
place.  When  he  was  missed  at  last  from  his  accustomed 
spot,  a  day  or  two  elapsed  before  any  alarm  was  felt.  One 
Sunday,  a  party  of  pleasure-seekers  clambering  over  the 
rocks  were  attracted  by  the  barking  of  a  dog  that  had  run 
on  before  them.  When  they  came  up  they  found  a  plainly 
dressed  man  lying  there  dead.  There  were  a  few  papers  in 
his  pocket,  —  chiefly  slips  cut  from  different  journals  of  old 
marine  memoranda,  —  and  his  face  was  turned  towards  the 
distant  sea. 


A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM 

I  HAD  been  stage-ridden  and  bewildered  all  day,  and 
when  we  swept  down  with  the  darkness  into  the  Arcadian 
hamlet  of  Wingdam  I  resolved  to  go  no  farther,  and  rolled 
out  in  a  gloomy  and  dyspeptic  state.  The  effects  of  a 
mysterious  pie,  and  some  sweetened  carbonic  acid  known  to 
the  proprietor  of  the  Half-way  House  as  "  lemming  sody," 
still  oppressed  me.  Even  the  facetiae  of  the  gallant  ex 
pressman,  who  knew  everybody's  Christian  name  along  the 
route,  who  rained  letters,  newspapers,  and  bundles  from 
the  top  of  the  stage,  whose  legs  frequently  appeared  in 
frightful  proximity  to  the  wheels,  who  got  on  and  off  while 
we  were  going  at  full  speed,  whose  gallantry,  energy,  and 
superior  knowledge  of  travel  crushed  all  us  other  passengers 
to  envious  silence,  and  who  just  then  was  talking  with  sev 
eral  persons  and  manifestly  doing  something  else  at  the  same 
time,  —  even  this  had  failed  to  interest  me.  So  I  stood 
gloomily,  clutching  my  shawl  and  carpetbag,  and  watched 
the  stage  roll  away,  taking  a  parting  look  at  the  gallant 
expressman  as  he  hung  on  the  top  rail  with  one  leg,  and  lit 
his  cigar  from  the  pipe  of  a  running  footman.  I  then 
turned  toward  the  Wingdam  Temperance  Hotel. 

It  may  have  beenthe~'W'eatKer7  or  it  may  have  been  the 
pie,  but  I  was  not  impressed  favorably  with  the  house.  Per 
haps  it  was  the  name  extending  the  whole  length  of  the 
building,  with  a  letter  under  each  window,  making  the  peo 
ple  who  looked  out  dreadfully  conspicuous.  Perhaps  it 
was  that  "  Temperance "  always  suggested  to  my  mind 
rusks  and  weak  tea.  It  was  uninviting.  It  might  have 


A  NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM  375 

been  called  the  "  Total  Abstinence  "  Hotel,  from  the  lack 
of  anything  to  intoxicate  or  inthrall  the  senses.  It  was 
designed  with  an  eye  to  artistic  dreariness.  It  was  so  much 
too  large  for  the  settlement  that  it  appeared  to  be  a  very 
slight  improvement  on  outdoors.  It  was  unpleasantly  new. 
There  was  the  forest  flavor  of  dampness  about  it,  and  a 
slight  spicing  of  pine.  Nature  outraged,  but  not  entirelfA 
subdued,  sometimes  broke  out  afresh  in  little  round,  stick} 
resinous  tears  on  the  doors  and  windows.  It  seemed  to  mb  J 
that  boarding  there  must  seem  like  a  perpetual  picnic.  As 
I  entered  the  door,  a  number  of  the  regular  boarders  rushed 
out  of  a  long  room,  and  set  about  trying  to  get  the  taste  of 
something  out  of  their  mouths,  by  the  application  of  tobacco 
in  various  forms.  A  few  immediately  ranged  themselves 
around  the  fireplace,  with  their  legs  over  each  other's  chairs, 
and  in  that  position  silently  resigned  themselves  to  indiges 
tion.  Remembering  the  pie,  I  waived  the  invitation  of  the 
landlord  to  supper,  but  suffered  myself  to  be  conducted  into 
the  sitting-room.  " Mine  host"  was  a  magnificent-looking,  X) 
heavily  bearded  specimen  of  the  animal  man.  He  reminded 
me  of  somebody  or  something  connected  with  the  drama. 
I  was  sitting  beside  the  fire,  mutely  wondering  what  if 
could  be,  and  trying  to  follow  the  particular  chord  of  mem 
ory  thus  touched  into  the  intricate  past,  when  ja  little,^ 
delicate-looking  woman  appeared  at  the  door,  and,  leaning 
heavily  against  the  casing,  said  in  an  exhausted  tone,  "  Hus 
band  !  "  As  the  landlord  turned  toward  her,  that  particu 
lar  remembrance  flashed  before  me  in  a  single  line  of  blank 
verse.  It  was  this :  "  Two  souls  with  but  one  single 
thought,  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 

It  was  Ingomar  and  Parthenia  his  wife.  I  imagined  a 
different  denouement  from  the  play.  Ingomar  had  taken 
Parthenia  back  to  the  mountains,  and  kept  a  hotel  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Alemanni,  who  resorted  there  in  large  num 
bers.  Poor  Parthenia  was  pretty  well  fagged  out,  ana  did 


' 


376  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

all  the  work  without  "  help."  She  had  two  "  young  barbari 
ans,"  a  boy  and  a  girl.  She  was  faded,  but  still  good- 
looking. 

I  sat  and  talked  with  Ingomar,  who  seemed  perfectly  at 
home,  and  told  me  several  stories  of  the  Alemanni,  all  bear 
ing  a  strong  flavor  of  the  wilderness,  arid  being  perfectly  in 
keeping  with  the  house.  How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  a 
certain  dreadful  "  b'ar,"  whose  skin  was  just  up  "yar," 
over  his  bed.  How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  several  "  bucks," 
whose  skins  had  been  prettily  fringed  and  embroidered  by 
Parthenia,  and  even  now  clothed  him.  How  he,  Ingomar, 
had  killed  several  "  Injins,"  and  was  once  nearly  scalped 
himself.  All  this  with  that  ingenious  candor  which  is  per 
fectly  justifiable  in  a  barbarian,  but  which  a  Greek  might 
feel  inclined  to  look  upon  as  "  blowing."  Thinking  of  the 
wearied  Parthenia,  I  began  to  consider  for  the  first  time 
that  perhaps  she  had  better  married  the  old  Greek.  Then 
she  would  at  least  have  always  looked  neat.  Then  she  would 
not  have  worn  a  woolen  dress  flavored  with  all  the  dinners 
of  the  past  year.  Then  she  would  not  have  been  obliged 
to  wait  on  the  table  with  her  hair  half  down.  Then  the 
two  children  would  not  have  hung  about  her  skirts  with 
dirty  fingers,  palpably  dragging  her  down  day  by  day.  I 
suppose  it  was  the  pie  which  put  such  heartless  and  im 
proper  ideas  in  my  head,  and  so  I  rose  up  and  told  Ingo 
mar  I  believed  I  Jd  go  to  bed.  Preceded  by  that  redoubt 
able  barbarian  and  a  flaring  tallow  candle,  I  followed  him 
upstairs  to  my  room.  It  was  the  only  single  room  he  had, 
he  told  me  ;  he  had  built  it  for  the  convenience  of  married 
parties  who  might  stop  here,  but,  that  event  not  happening 
yet,  he  had  left  it  half  furnished.  It  had  cloth  on  one 
side,  and  large  cracks  on  the  other.  The  wind,  which 
always  swept  over  Wingdam  at  night-time,  puffed  through 
the  apartment  from  different  apertures.  The  window  was 
too  small  for  the  hole  in  the  side  of  the  house  where  it 


A   NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM  377 

hung,  and  rattled  noisily.  Everything  looked  cheerless  and. 
dispiriting.  Before  Ingomar  left  me,  he  brought  that  "b'ar- 
skin,"  and  throwing  it  over  the  solemn  bier  which  stood  in 
one  corner,  told  me  he  reckoned  that  would  keep  me  warm^ 
and  then  bade  me  good-night.  I  undressed  myself,  the 
light  blowing  out  in  the  middle  of  that  ceremony,  crawled 
under  the  "  b'arskin,"  and  tried  to  compose  myself  to 
sleep. 

But  I  was  staringly  wide  awake.  I  heard  the  wind 
sweep  down  the  mountain-side,  arid  toss  the  branches  of  the 
melancholy  pine,  and  then  enter  the  house,  and  try  all  the 
doors  along  the  passage.  Sometimes  strong  currents  of  air 
blew  my  hair  all  over  the  pillow,  as  with  strange  whispering 
breaths.  The  green  timber  along  the  walls  seemed  to  be 
sprouting,  and  sent  a  dampness  even  through  the  "  b'arskin." 
I  felt  like  Kobinson  Crusoe  in  his  tree,  with  the  ladder 
pulled  up,  —  or  like  the  rocked  baby  of  the  nursery  song. 
After  lying  awake  half  an  hour,  I  regretted  having  stopped 
at  Wingdam ;  at  the  end  of  the  third  quarter,  I  wished  I 
had  not  gone  to  bed ;  and  when  a  restless  hour  passed.  I  got 
up  and  dressed  myself.  There  had  been  a  fire  down  in  the 
big  room.  Perhaps  it  was  still  burning.  I  opened  the  door 
and  groped  my  way  along  the  passage,  vocal  with  the  snores 
of  the  Alemanni  and  the  whistling  of  the  night  wind ;  I 
parti}'-  fell  downstairs,  and  at  last  entering  the  big  room, 
saw  the  fire  still  burning.  I  drew  a  chair  toward  it,  poked 
it  with  my  foot,  and  was  astonished  to  see,  by  the  upspring- 
ing  flash,  that  Parthenia  was  sitting  there  also,  holding  a 
faded-looking  baby. 

I  asked  her  why  she  was  sitting  up. 

"  She  did  not  go  to  bed  on  Wednesday  night  before  the 
mail  arrived,  and  then  she  awoke  her  husband,  and  there 
were  passengers  to  'tend  to." 

"  Did  she  not  get  tired  sometimes  ?  " 

"  A  little,  but  Abner  "  (the  barbarians  Christian  namej 


378  EARLIER  SKETCHES 

"  had  promised  to  get  her  more  help  next  spring,  if  business 
was  good." 

"  How  many  boarders  had  she  ?  " 

"  She  believed  about  forty  came  to  regular  meals,  and 
there  was  transient  custom,  which  was  as  much  as  she  and 
her  husband  could  'tend  to.  But  he  did  a  great  deal  of 
work." 

"  What  work  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bringing  in  the  wood,  and  looking  after  the  traders' 
things." 

"  How  long  had  she  been  married  ?  " 

.,       "About  nine  years.      She  had  lost  a  little  girl  and  boy. 

Three  children  living.     He  was  from  Illinois.      She  from 

Boston.     Had  an  education  (Boston  Female  High  School,  — 

\      Geometry,  Algebra,  a  little  Latin  and  Greek).     Mother  and 

\     father  died.     Came  to  Illinois  alone,  to  teach  school.      Saw 

\    him  —  yes  —  a   love   match."      ("Two   souls,"   etc.,   etc.) 

\  "  Married   and   emigrated   to   Kansas.     Thence   across  the 

t  Plains  to  California.    Always  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization. 

He  liked  it. 

**  "  She  might  sometimes  have  wished  to  go  home.  Would 
like  to  on  account  of  her  children.  WTould  like  to  give 
them  an  education.  Had  taught  them  a  little  herself,  but 
couldn't  do  much  on  account  of  other  work.  Hoped  that 
the  boy  would  be  like  his  father,  strong  and  hearty.  Was 
fearful  the  girl  would  be  more  like  her.  Had  often  thought 
she  was  not  fit  for  a  pioneer's  wife." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  she  was  not  strong  enough,  and  had  seen  some  of  his 
friends'  wives  in  Kansas  who  could  do  more  work.  But  he 
never  complained,  — he  was  so  kind."  ("  Two  souls,"  etc.) 
/  Sitting  there  with  her  head  leaning  pensively  on  one 
hand,  holding  the  poor,  wearied,  and  limp-looking  baby 
wearily  on  the  other  arm,  dirty,  drabbled,  and  forlorn,  with 
the  firelight  playing  upon  her  features  no  longer  fresh  or 


A   NIGHT   AT  WINGDAM  379 

^oung,  but  still  refined  and  delicate,  and  even  in  her 
grotesque  slovenliness  still  bearing  a  faint  reminiscence  of 
birth  and  breeding,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  I  did  I 
not  fall  into  excessive  raptures  over  the  barbarian's  kindness.j/J 
Emboldened  by  my  sympathy,  she  told  me  how  she  had 
given  up,  little  by  little,  what  she  imagined  to  be  the  weak 
ness  of  her  early  education,  until  she  found  that  she  acquired 
but  little  strength  in  her  new  experience.  How,  translated 
to  a  backwoods  society,  she  was  hated  by  the  women,  and 
-called  proud  and  "fine,"  and  how  her  dear  husband  lost 
popularity  on  that  account  with  his  fellows.  How,  led 
partly  by  his  roving  instincts,  and  partly  from  other  circum 
stances,  he  started  with  her  to  California.  An  account  of 
that  tedious  journey.  How  it  was  a  dreary,  dreary  waste  in 
her  memory,  only  a  blank  plain  marked  by  a  little  cairn  of 
rtones,  —  a  child's  grave.  How  she  had  noticed  that  little 
Willie  failed.  How  she  had  called  Abner's  attention  to  it, 
but,  man-like,  he  knew  nothing  about  children,  and  pooh- 
poohed  it,  and  was  worried  by  the  stock.  How  it  happened 
that  after  they  had  passed  Sweetwater  she  was  walking 
beside  the  wagon  one  night,  and  looking  at  the  western  sky, 
and  she  heard  a  little  voice  say  "  Mother."  How  she  looked 
into  the  wagon  and  saw  that  little  Willie  was  sleeping  com 
fortably  and  did  not  wish  to  wake  him.  How  that  in  a  few 
moments  more  she  heard  the  same  voice  saying  "  Mother." 
How  she  came  back  to  the  wagon  and  leaned  down  over 
him,  and  felt  his  breath  upon  her  face,  and  again  covered 
him  up  tenderly,  and  once  more  resumed  her  weary  journey 
beside  him,  praying  to  God  for  his  recovery.  How  with 
her  face  turned  to  the  sky  she  heard  the  same  voice  saying; 
.  "  Mother,"  and  directly  a  great  bright  star  shot  away  from 
its  brethren  and  expired.  And  how  she  knew  what  had 
happened,  and  ran  to  the  wagon  again  only  to  pillow  a  little 
pinched  and  cold  white  face  upon  her  weary  bosom.  The 
thin  red  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes  here,  and  for  a  few 


380  EARLIER   SKETCHES 

moments  she  sat  still.  The  wind  tore  round  the  house  and 
made  a  frantic  rush  at  the  front  door,  and  from  his  couch 
of  skins  in  the  inner  room  Ingomar,  the  barbarian,  snored 
peacefully.  / 

"  Of  course  she  always  found  a  protector  from  insult 
and  outrage  in  the  great  courage  and  strength  of  her  hus 
band  ?  » 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  r,rhen  Ingomar  was  with  her  she  feared  nothing. 
But  she  was  nervous  and  had  been  frightened  once  ! " 

"  How  ?  " 

"  They  had  just  ariived  in  California.  They  kept  house 
then,  and  had  to  sell  liquor  to  traders.  Ingomar  was  hos 
pitable,  and  drank  with  everybody,  for  the  sake  of  popu 
larity  and  business,  and  Ingomar  got  to  like  liquor,  and  was 
easily  affected  by  it.  And  how  one  night  there  was  a 
boisterous  crowd  in  the  bar-room  ;  she  went  in  and  tried  to 
get  him  away,  but  only  succeeded  in  awakening  the  coarse 
gallantry  of  the  half-crazed  revelers.  And  how,  when  she 
had  at  last  got  him  in  the  room  with  her  frightened  children, 
he  sank  down  on  the  bed  in  a  stupor,  which  made  her  think 
the  liquor  was  drugged.  And  how  she  sat  beside  him  all 
night,  and  near  morning  heard  a  step  in  the  passage,  and, 
looking  toward  the  door,  saw  the  latch  slowly  moving  up 
and  down,  as  if  somebody  were  trying  it.  And  how  she 
shook  her  husband,  and  tried  to  waken  him,  but  without 
effect.  And  how  at  last  the  door  yielded  slowly  at  the  top 
(it  was  bolted  below),  as  if  by  a  gradual  pressure  without ; 
and  how  a  hand  protruded  through  the  opening.  And  how 
as  quick  as  lightning  she  nailed  that  hand  to  the  wall  with 
her  scissors  (her  only  weapon),  but  the  point  broke,  and 
somebody  got  away  with  a  fearful  oath.  How  she  never 
told  her  husband  of  it,  for  fear  he  would  kill  that  some 
body  ;  but  how  on  one  day  a  stranger  called  here,  and  as 
she  was  handing  him  his  coffee,  she  saw  a  queer  triangular 
scar  on  the  back  of  his  hand." 


A   NIGHT   AT  WINGDAM  381 

She  was  still  talking,  and  the  wind  was  still  blowing, 
and  Ingomar  was  still  snoring  from  his  couch  of  skins, 
when  there  was  a  shout  high  up  the  straggling  street, 
and  a  clattering  of  hoofs  and  rattling  of  wheels.  The 
mail  had  arrived.  Parthenia  ran  with  the  faded  baby  to 
awaken  Ingomar,  and  almost  simultaneously  the  gallant 
expressman  stood  again  before  me,  addressing  me  by  my 
Christian  name,  and  invited  me  to  drink  out  of  a  mysterious 
black  bottle.  The  horses  were  speedily  watered,  and  the 
business  of  the  gallant  expressman  concluded,  and,  bidding 
Parthenia  good  by,  I  got  on  the  stage,  and  immediately  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamt  of  calling  on  Parthenia  and  Ingomar, 
and  being  treated  with  pie  to  an  unlimited  extent,  until  I 
woke  up  the  next  morning  in  Sacramento.  I  have  some 
doubts  as  to  whether  all  this  was  not  a  dyspeptic  dream, 
but  I  never  witness  the  drama,  and  hear  that  noble  senti 
ment  concerning  "  Two  souls, "  etc.,  without  thinking  of 
Wingdam  and  poor  Parthenia. 


SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 


THE  LEGEND   OF   MONTE  DEL  DIABLO 

THE  cautious  reader  will  detect  a  lack  of  authenticity  in 
the  following  pages.  I  am  not  a  cautious  reader  myself, 
yet  I  confess  with  some  concern  to  the  absence  of  much 
documentary  evidence  in  support  of  the  singular  incident  I 
dm  about  to  relate.  Disjointed  memoranda,  the  proceed 
ings  of  ayuntamientos  and  early  departmental  juntas,  with 
v  other  records  of  a  primitive  and  superstitious  people,  have 
been  my  inadequate  authorities.  It  is  but  just  to  state, 
however,  that  though  this  particular  story  lacks  corrobora- 
tion,  in  ransacking  the  Spanish  archives  of  Upper  Califor 
nia  I  have  met  with  many  more  surprising  and  incredible 
stories,  attested  and  supported  to  a  degree  that  would  have 
placed  this  legend  beyond  a  cavil  or  doubt.  I  have,  also, 
never  lost  faith  in  the  legend  myself,  and  in  so  doing  have 
profited  much  from  the  examples  of  divers  grant-claimants, 
who  have  often  jostled  me  in  their  more  practical  researches, 
and  who  have  my  sincere  sympathy  at  the  skepticism  of  a 
modern  hard-headed  and  practical  world. 

For  many  years  after  Father  Junipero  Serro  first  rang  his 
bell  in  the  wilderness  of  Upper  California,  the  spirit  which 
animated  that  adventurous  priest  did  not  wane.  The  con 
version  of  the  heathen  went  on  rapidly  in  the  establishment 
of  missions  throughout  the  land.  So  sedulously  did  the 
good  Fathers  set  about  their  work,  that  around  their  iso- 


THE   LEGEND   OF   MONTE   DEL  DIABLO  383 

lated  chapels  there  presently  arose  adobe  huts,  whose  mud- 
plastered  and  savage  tenants  partook  regularly  of  the 
provisions,  and  occasionally  of  the  Sacrament,  of  their 
pious  hosts.  Nay,  so  great  was  their  progress,  that  one 
zealous  Padre  is  reported  to  have  administered  the  Lord's 
Supper  one  Sabbath  morning  to  "  over  three  hundred 
heathen  salvages."  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  the 
Enemy  of  Souls,  being  greatly  incensed  thereat,  and  alarmed 
at  his  decreasing  popularity,  should  have  grievously  tempted 
and  embarrassed  these  holy  Fathers,  as  we  shall  presently 
see. 

Yet  they  were  happy,  peaceful  days  for  California.  The 
vagrant  keels  of  prying  Commerce  had  not  as  yet  ruffled 
the  lordly  gravity  of  her  bays.  No  torn  and  ragged  gulch 
betrayed  the  suspicion  of  golden  treasure.  The  wild  oats 
drooped  idly  in  the  morning  heat  or  wrestled  with  the 
afternoon  breezes.  Deer  and  antelope  dotted  the  plain. 
The  watercourses  brawled  in  their  familiar  channels,  nor 
dreamed  of  ever  shifting  their  regular  tide.  The  wonders 
of  the  Yosemite  and  Calaveras  were  as  yet  unrecorded. 
The  holy  Fathers  noted  little  of  the  landscape  beyond  the 
barbaric  prodigality  with  which  the  quick  soil  repaid  the 
sowing.  A  new  conversion,  the  advent  of  a  saint's  day,  or 
the  baptism  of  an  Indian  baby,  was  at  once  the  chronicle 
and  marvel  of  their  day. 

At  this  blissful  epoch  there  lived  at  the  Mission  of  'San 
Pablo  Father  Jose  Antonio  Haro,  a  worthy  brother  of  the  ' 
Society  of  Jesus.  He  was  of  tall  and  cadaverous  aspect. 
A  somewhat  romantic  history  had  given  a  poetic  interest  to 
his  lugubrious  visage.  While  a  youth,  pursuing  his  studies 
at  famous  Salamanca,  he  had  become  enamored  of  the 
charms  of  Dona  Carmen  de  Torrencevara,  as  that  lady 
passed  to  her  matutinal  devotions.  Untoward  circum 
stances,  hastened,  perhaps,  by  a  wealthier  suitor,  brought 
this  amour  to  a  disastrous  issue,  and  Father  Jose*  entered 


SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

a  monastery,  taking  upon  himself  the  vows  of  celibacy.  It 
was  here  that  his  natural  fervor  and  poetic  enthusiasm 
conceived  expression  as  a  missionary.  A  longing  to  convert 
the  uncivilized  heathen  succeeded  his  frivolous  earthly  pas 
sion,  and  a  desire  to  explore  and  develop  unknown  fast 
nesses  continually  possessed  him.  In  his  flashing  eye  and 
sombre  exterior  was  detected  a  singular  commingling  of  the 
discreet  Las  Casas  and  the  impetuous  Balboa. 

Fired  by  this  pious  zeal,  Father  Jose  went  forward  in  the 
van  of  Christian  pioneers.  On  reaching  Mexico  he  obtained 
authority  to  establish  the  Mission  of  San  Pablo.  Like  the 
good  Junipero,  accompanied  only  by  an  acolyte  and  mule 
teer,  he  unsaddled  his  mules  in  a  dusky  canon,  and  rangjiis 
bell  in  the  wilderness.  The  savages  —  a  peaceful,  inoffensive, 
and  inferior  race  —  presently  flocked  around  ...him.  The 
nearest  military  post  was  far  away,  which  contributed  much 
to  the  security  of  these  pious  pilgrims,  who  found  their  open 
trustfulness  and  amiability  better  fitted  to  repress  hostility 
than  the  presence  oi  an  armed,  suspicious,  and  brawling 
soldiery.  So  the  good  Father  Josd  said  matins  and  prime, 
mass  and  vespers,  in  the  heart  of  sin  and  heathenism, 
taking  no  heed  to  himself,  but  looking  only  to  the  welfare 
of  the  Holy  Church.  Conversions  soon  followed,  and  on 
the  7th  of  July,  1760,  the  first  Indian  baby  was  baptized,  — 
an  event  which,  as  Father  Jose*  piously  records,  "  exceeds 
the  richnesse  of  gold  or  precious  jewels  or  the  chancing 
upon  the  Ophir  of  Solomon."  I  quote  this  incident  as  best 
suited  to  show  the  ingenious  blending  of  poetry  and  piety 
which  distinguished  Father  Jose's  record. 

The  Mission  of  San  Pablo  progressed  and  prospered, 
until  the  pious  founder  thereof,  like  the  infidel  Alexander, 
might  have  wept  that  there  were  no  more  heathen  worlds 
to  conquer.  But  his  ardent  and  enthusiastic  spirit  could 
not  long  brook  an  idleness  that  seemed  begotten  of  sin; 
and  one  pleasant  August  morning  in  the  year  of  grace  1770 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL   DIABLO  385 

Father  Jose  issued  from  the  outer  court  of  the  mission 
building,  equipped  to  explore  the  field  for  new  missionary 
labors. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  quiet  gravity  and  unpreten- 
tiousness  of  the  little  cavalcade.  First  rode  a  stout  mule 
teer,  leading  a  pack-mule  laden  with  the  provisions  of  the 
party,  together  with  a  few  cheap  crucifixes  and  hawks'  bells. 
After  him  came  the  devout  Padre  Jose,  bearing  his  breviary 
and  cross,  with  a  black  serapa  thrown  around  his  shoulders ; 
while  on  either  side  trotted  a  dusky  convert,  anxious  to 
show  a  proper  sense  of  his  regeneration  by  acting  as 
guide  into  the  wilds  of  his  heathen  brethren.  Their  new 
condition  was  agreeably  shown  by  the  absence  of  the  usual 
mud-plaster,  which  in  their  unconverted  state  they  assumed 
to  keep  away  vermin  and  cold.  The  morning  was  bright 
and  propitious.  Before  their  departure,  mass  had  been 
said  in  the  chapel,  and  the  protection  of  St.  Ignatius 
invoked  against  all  contingent  evils,  but  especially  against 
bears,  which,  like  the  fiery  dragons  of  old,  seemed  to 
cherish  unconquerable  hostility  to  the  Holy  Church. 

As  they  wound  through  the  canon,  charming  birds  dis 
ported  upon  boughs  and  sprays,  and  sober  quails  piped 
from  the  alders ;  the  willowy  watercourses  gave  a  musical 
utterance,  and  the  long  grass  whispered  on  the  hillside. 
On  entering  the  deeper  defiles,  above  them  towered  dark 
green  masses  of  pine,  and  occasionally  the  madrono  shook 
its  bright  scarlet  berries.  As  they  toiled  up  many  a  steep 
ascent,  Father  Jose  sometimes  picked  up  fragments  of 
scoria,  which  spake  to  his  imagination  of  direful  volcanoes 
and  impending  earthquakes.  To  the  less  scientific  mind  of 
the  muleteer  Ignacio  they  had  even  a  more  terrifying  signi 
ficance  ;  and  he  once  or  twice  snuffed  the  air  suspiciously, 
and  declared  that  it  smelt  of  sulphur.  So  the  first  day  of 
their  journey  wore  away,  and  at  night  they  encamped  with 
out  having  met  a  single  heathen  face. 


386  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

It  was  on  this  night  that  the  Enemy  of  Souls  appeared 
to  Ignacio  in  an  appalling  form.  He  had  retired  to  a 
secluded  part  of  the  camp  and  had  sunk  upon  his  knees  in 
prayerful  meditation,  when  he  looked  up  andjgerceived  the 
V  Arch-Fiend  in  the  likeness  of  a  monstrous  -bear.  The 
Evil  One  was  seated  on  his  hind  legs  immediately  before 
him,  with  his  fore  paws  joined  together  just  below  his  black 
muzzle.  Wisely  conceiving  this  remarkable  attitude  to  be 
in  mockery  and  derision  of  his  devotions,  the  worthy  mule 
teer  was  transported  with  fury.  Seizing  an  arquebus,  he 
instantly  closed  his  eyes  and  fired.  When  he  had  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  terrific  discharge,  the  apparition  had 
disappeared.  Father  Jose,  awakened  by  the  report,  reached 
the  spot  only  in  time  to  chide  the  muleteer  for  wasting 
powder  and  ball  in  a  contest  with  one  whom  a  single  ave 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  utterly  discomfit.  What 
further  reliance  he  placed  on  Ignacio's  story  is  not  known ; 
but,  in  commemoration  of  a  worthy  Californian  custom,  the 
/  place  was  called  "  La  Canada  de  la  Tentacion  del  Pio 
Muletero,"  or  "  The  Glen  of  the  Temptation  of  the  Pious 
Muleteer,"  a  name  which  it  retains  to  this  day. 

The  next  morning  the  party,  issuing  from  a  narrow  gorge, 
came  upon  a  long  valley,  sear  and  burnt  with  the  shadeless 
heat.  Its  lower  extremity  was  lost  in  a  fading  line  of  low 
hills,  which,  gathering  might  and  volume  toward  the  upper 
end  of  the  valley,  upheaved  a  stupendous  bulwark  against 
the  breezy  north.  The  peak  of  this  awful  spur  was  just 
touched  by  a  fleecy  cloud  that  shifted  to  and  fro  like  a 
banneret.  Father  Jose  gazed  at  it  with  mingled  awe  and 
admiration.  By  a  singular  coincidence,  the  muleteer  Ignacio 
uttered  the  simple  ejaculation  "  Diablo !  " 

As  they  penetrated  the  valley,  they  soon  began  to  miss 
the  agreeable  life  and  companionable  echoes  of  the  canon 
they  had  quitted.  Huge  fissures  in  the  parched  soil  seemed 
to  gape  as  with  thirsty  mouths.  A  few  squirrels  darted 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DiABLO  387 

from  the  earth  and  disappeared  as  mysteriously  before  the 
jingly  mules.  A  gray  wolf  trotted  leisurely  along  just 
ahead.  But  whichever  way  Father  Jose  turned,  the  moun 
tain  always  asserted  itself  and  arrested  his  wandering  eye. 
Out  of  the  dry  and  arid  valley  it  seemed  to  spring  into 
cooler  and  bracing  life.  Deep  cavernous  shadows  dwelt 
along  its  base ;  rocky  fastnesses  appeared  midway  of  its 
elevation  ;  and  on  either  side  huge  black  hills  diverged  ,.t 
like  massy  roots  from  a  central  trunk.  His  lively  fancy 
pictured  these  hills  peopled  with  a  majestic  and  intelligent  ; 
race  of  savages ;  and  looking  into  futurity,  he  already  saw 
a  monstrous  cross  crowning  the  dome-like  summit.  Far  J 
different  were  the  sensations  of  the  muleteer,  who  saw  in 
those  awful  solitudes  only  fiery  dragons,  colossal  bears,  and 
breakneck  trails.  The  converts,  Concepcion  and  Incarna- 
cion,  trotting  modestly  beside  the  Padre,  recognized,  per 
haps,  some  manifestation  of  their  former  weird  mythology. 

At  nightfall  they  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain. 
Here  Father  Jose  unpacked  his  mules,  said  vespers,  and, 
formally  ringing  his  bell,  called  upon  the  Gentiles  within 
hearing  to  come  and  accept  the  holy  faith.  The  echoes  of 
the  black  frowning  hills  around  him  caught  up  the  pious 
invitation  and  repeated  it  at  intervals  ;  but  no  Gentiles 
appeared  that  night.  Nor  were  the  devotions  of  the  mule 
teer  again  disturbed,  although  he  afterward  asserted  that, 
when  the  Father's  exhortation  was  ended,  a  mocking  peal 
of  laughter  came  from  the  mountain.  Nothing  daunted  by 
these  intimations  of  the  near  hostility  of  the  Evil  One, 
Father  Jose  declared  his  intention  to  ascend  the  mountain 
at  early  dawn,  and  before  the  sun  rose  the  next  morning 
he  was  leading  the  way. 

The  ascent  was  in  many  places  difficult  and  dangerous. 
Huge  fragments  of  rock  often  lay  across  the  trail,  and  after 
a  few  hours'  climbing  they  were  forced  to  leave  their  mules 
in  a  little  gully  and  continue  the  ascent  afoot.  Unaccus* 


r 


388  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

tomed  to  such  exertion,  Father  Jose  often  stopped  to  wipe 
the  perspiration  from  his  thin  cheeks.  As  the  day  wore 
on  a  strange  silence  oppressed  them.  Except  the  occasional 
pattering  of  a  squirrel,  or  a  rustling  in  the  chimisal  bushes, 
there  were  no  signs  of  life.  The  half-human  print  of  a 
bear's  foot  sometimes  appeared  before  them,  at  which 
Ignacio  always  crossed  himself  piously.  The  eye  was 
sometimes  cheated  by  a  dripping  from  the  rocks,  which  on 
closer  inspection  proved  to  be  a  resinous  oily  liquid  with 
an  abominable  sulphurous  smell.  When  they  were  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  summit,  the  discreet  Ignacio,  select 
ing  a  sheltered  nook  for  the  camp,  slipped  aside  and  busied 
himself  in  preparations  for  the  evening,  leaving  the  holy 
Father  to  continue  the  ascent  alone.  Never  was  there  a 
more  thoughtless  act  of  prudence,  never  a  more  imprudent 
piece  of  caution.  Without  noticing  the  desertion,  buried 
in  pious  reflection,  Father  Jose  pushed  mechanically  on, 
and,  reaching  the  summit,  cast  himself  down  and  gazed 
upon  the  prospect. 

Below  him  lay  a  succession  of  valleys  opening  into  each 
,„  other  like  gentle  lakes,  until  they  were  lost  to  the  southward. 
Westerly  the  distant  range  hid  the  bosky  cafiada  which 
sheltered  the  Mission  of  San  Pablo.  In  the  farther  distance 
the  Pacific  Ocean  stretched  away,  bearing  a  cloud  of  fog 
upon  its  bosom,  which  crept  through  the  entrance  of  the 
bay,  and  rolled  thickly  between  him  and  the  northeast 
ward  ;  the  same  fog  hid  the  base  of  the  mountain  and  the 
view  beyond.  Still  from  time  to  time  the  fleecy  veil  parted, 
and  timidly  disclosed  charming  glimpses  of  mighty  rivers, 
mountain  defiles,  and  rolling  plains,  sear  with  ripened  oats 
and  bathed  in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun.  As  father  Jose 
p  gazed,  he  was  penetrated  with  a  pious  longing.  Already 
i  his  imagination,  filled  with  enthusiastic  conceptions,  beheld 
all  that  vast  expanse  gathered  under  the  mild  sway  of  the 
holy  faith  and  peopled  with  zealous  converts.  Each  little 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DIABLO  389 

knoll  in  fancy  became  crowned  with  a  chapel ;  from  each 
dark  canon  gleamed  the  white  walls  of  a  mission  building. 
Growing  bolder  in  his  enthusiasm  and  looking  farther  into 
futurity,  he  beheld  a  new  Spain  rising  on  these  savage 
shores.  He  already  saw  the  spires  of  stately  cathedrals, 
the  domes  of  palaces,  vineyards,  gardens,  and  groves.  Con 
vents,  half  hid  among  the  hills,  peeping  from  plantations 
of  branching  limes,  and  long  processions  of  chanting  nuns 
wound  through  the  defiles.  So  completely  was  the  good 
Father's  conception  of  the  future  confounded  with  the 
past,  that  even  in  their  choral  strain  the  well-remembered 
accents  of  Carmen  struck  his  ear.  He  was  busied  in  these 
fanciful  imaginings,  when  suddenly  over  that  extended 
prospect  the  faint  distant  tolling  of  a  bell  rang  sadly  out 
and  died.  It  was  the  Angelus.  Father  Jose  listened  with 
superstitious  exaltation.  The  Mission  of  San  Pablo  was 
far  away,  and  the  sound  must  have  been  some  miraculous 
omen.  But  never  before,  to  his  enthusiastic  sense,  did  the 
sweet  seriousness  of  this  angelic  symbol  come  with  such 
strange  significance.  With  the  last  faint  peal  his  glowing 
fancy  seemed  to  cool ;  the  fog  closed  in  below  him,  and  the 
good  Father  remembered  he  had  not  had  his  supper.  He 
had  risen  and  was  wrapping  his  serapa  around  him,  when  he 
perceived  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  not  alone. 

Nearly  opposite,  and  where  should  have  been  the  faithless 
Tgnacio,  a  grave  and  decorous  figure  was  seated.  His  ap 
pearance  was  that  of  an  elderly  hidalgo,  dressed  in  mourn 
ing,  with  mustaches  of  iron-gray  carefully  waxed  and  twisted 
round  a  pair  of  lantern-jaws.  The  monstrous  hat  and 
prodigious  feather,  the  enormous  ruff  and  exaggerated  trunk- 
hose,  contrasted  with  a  frame  shriveled  and  wizened,  all 
belonged  to  a  century  previous.  Yet  Father  Jose  was  not 
astonished.  His  adventurous  life  and  poetic  imagination, 
continually  on  the  look-out  for  the  marvelous,  gave  him  a 
certain  advantage  over  the  practical  and  material-minded 


390  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

He  instantly  detected  the  diabolical  quality  of  his  visitant, 
and  was  prepared.  With  equal  coolness  and  courtesy  he 
met  the  cavalier's  obeisance. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  Priest,"  said  the  stranger,  "  for 
disturbing  your  meditations.  Pleasant  they  must  have  been, 
and  right  fanciful,  I  imagine,  when  occasioned  by  so  fair  a 
prospect." 

"  Worldly,  perhaps,  Sir  Devil,  —  for  such  I  take  you  to 
be,"  said  the  holy  Father,  as  the  stranger  bowed  his  black 
plumes  to  the  ground  ;  "  worldly,  perhaps ;  for  it  hath 
pleased  Heaven  to  retain  even  in  our  regenerated  state 
much  that  pertaineth  to  the  flesh,  yet  still,  I  trust,  not  with 
out  some  speculation  for  the  welfare  of  the  Holy  Church. 
In  dwelling  upon  yon  fair  expanse,  mine  eyes  have  been 
graciously  opened  with  prophetic  inspiration,  and  the  pro 
mise  of  the  heathen  as  an  inheritance  hath  marvelously 
recurred  to  me.  For  there  can  be  none  lack  such  diligence 
in  the  true  faith  but  may  see  that  even  the  conversion  of 
these  pitiful  salvages  hath  a  meaning.  As  the  blessed  St. 
Ignatius  discreetly  observes,"  continued  Father  Jose*,  clear 
ing  his  throa-tand  slightly  elevating  his  voice,  "  '  the  heathen 
is  given  to  the  warriors  of  Christ,  even  as  the  pearls  of  rare 
discovery  which  gladden  the  hearts  of  shipmen.'  ^Nay,  I 
might  say  "  — 

But  here  the  stranger,  who  had  been  wrinkling  his  brows 
and  twisting  his  mustaches  with  well-bred  patience,  took 
advantage  of  an  oratorical  pause. 

"  It  grieves  me,  Sir  Priest,  to  interrupt  the  current  of 
your  eloquence  as  discourteously  as  I  have  already  broken 
your  meditations ;  but  the  day  already  warieth  to  night.  I 
have  a  matter  of  serious  import  to  make  with  you,  could  I 
entreat  your  cautious  consideration  a  few  moments." 

Father  Jose  hesitated.  The  temptation  was  great,  and 
the  prospect  of  acquiring  some  knowledge  of  the  Great 
Enemy's  plans  not  the  least  trifling  object.  And,  if  the 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DIABLO  391 

truth  must  be  told,  there  was  a  certain  decorum  about  the 
stranger  that  interested  the  Padre.  Though  well  aware  of 
the  Protean  shapes  the  Arch-Fiend  could  assume,  and 
though  free  from  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh,  Father  Jose 
was  not  above  the  temptations  of  the  spirit.  Had  the 
Devil  appeared,  as  in  the  case  of  the  pious  St.  Anthony,  in 
the  likeness  of  a  comely  damsel,  the  good  Father,  with  his 
certain  experience  of  the  deceitful  sex,  would  have  whisked 
her  away  in  the  saying  of  a  paternoster.  But  there  was, 
added  to  the  security  of  age,  a  grave  sadness  about  the 
stranger,  —  a  thoughtful  consciousness,  as  of  being  at  a 
great  moral  disadvantage,  which  at  once  decided  him  on  a 
magnanimous  course  of  conduct. 

The  stranger  then  proceeded  to  inform  him  that  he  had 
been  diligently  observing  the  holy  Father's  triumphs  in  the 
valley.  That,  far  from  being  greatly  exercised  thereat,  he 
had  been  only  grieved  to  see  so  enthusiastic  and  chivalrous 
an  antagonist  wasting  his  zeal  in  a  hopeless  work.  For,  he 
observed,  the  issue  of  the  great  battle  of  Good  and  Evil  had 
been  otherwise  settled,  as  he  would  presently  show  him- 
"  It  wants  but  a  few  moments  of  night/'  he  continued,  "  and 
over  this  interval  of  twilight,  as  you  know,  I  have  been  given 
complete  control.  Look  to  the  west." 

As  the  Padre  turned,  the  stranger  took  his  enormous  hat 
from  his  head  and  waved  it  three  times  before  him.  At 
each  sweep  of  the  prodigious  feather  the  fog  grew  thinner, 
until  it  melted  impalpably  away,  and  the  former  landscape 
returned,  yet  warm  with  the  glowing  sun.  As  Father  Jose 
gazed  a  strain  of  martial  music  arose  from  the  valley,  and 
issuing  from  a  deep  canon  the  good  Father  beheld  a  long 
cavalcade  of  gallant  cavaliers,  habited  like  his  companion. 
As  they  swept  down  the  plain,  they  were  joined  by  like 
processions,  that  slowly  defiled  from  every  ravine  and  canon 
of  the  mysterious  mountain.  From  time  to  time  the  peal 
of  a  trumpet  swelled  fitfully  upon  the  breeze ;  the  cross  of 


892  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

Santiago  glittered,  and  the  royal  banners  of  Castile  and 
Aragon  waved  over  the  moving  column.  So  they  moved 
on  solemnly  toward  the  sea,  where,  in  the  distance,  Father 
Jose  saw  stately  caravels,  bearing  the  same  familiar  banner, 
iwaiting  them.  The  good  Padre  gazed  with  conflicting 
emotions,  and  the  serious  voice  of  the  stranger  broke  th^ 
^VN  silence. 

"  Thou  hast  beheld,  Sir  Priest,  the  fading  footprints  of 
adventurous  Castile.  Thou  hast  seen  the  declining  glory 
of  old  Spain,  —  declining  as  yonder  brilliant  sun.  The 
sceptre  she  hath  wrested  from  the  heathen  is  fast  dropping 
from  her  decrepit  and  fleshless  grasp.  The  children  she 
hath  fostered  shall  know  her  no  longer.  The  soil  she  hath 
acquired  shall  be  lost  to  her  as  irrevocably  as  she  herself 
hath  thrust  the  Moor  from  her  own  Granada." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  his  voice  seemed  broken  by 
emotion  ;  at  the  same  time,  Father  Jose,  whose  sympathiz 
ing  heart  yearned  toward  the  departing  banners,  cried  in 
poignant  accents,  — 

"  Farewell,  ye  gallant  cavaliers  and  Christian  soldiers ! 
Farewell,  thou,  Nunes  de  Balboa !  thou,  Alonzo  de  Ojeda ! 
and  thou,  most  venerable  Las  Casas !  farewell,  and  may 
Heaven  prosper  still  the  seed  ye  left  behind  !  " 

Then  turning  to  the  stranger,  Father  Jose  beheld  him 
gravely  draw  his  pocket-handkerchief  from  the  basket-hilt 
of  his  rapier  and  apply  it  decorously  to  his  eyes. 

"  Pardon  this  weakness,  Sir  Priest,"  said  the  cavalier 
apologetically  ;  "  but  these  worthy  gentlemen  were  ancient 
friends  of  mine,  and  have  done  me  many  a  delicate  service, 
—  much  more,  perchance,  than  these  poor  sables  may 
signify,"  he  added,  with  a  grim  gesture  toward  the  mourn 
ing  suit  he  wore. 

Father  Jose  was  too  much  preoccupied  in  reflection  to 
notice  the  equivocal  nature  of  this  tribute,  and,  after  a  few 
moments'  silence,  said,  as  if  continuing  his  thought,  — 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO  393 

"  But  the  seed  they  have  planted  shall  thrive  and  prosper 
on  this  fruitful  soil." 

As  if  answering  the  interrogatory,  the  stranger  turned  to 
the  opposite  direction,  and,  again  waving  his  hat,  said,  in  the 
same  serious  tone,  "  Look  to  the  east !  " 

The  Father  turned,  and,  as  the  fog  broke  away  before 
the  waving  plume,  he  saw  that  the  sun  was  rising.  Issuing 
with  its  bright  beams  through  the  passes  of  the  snowy 
mountains  beyond  appeared  a  strange  and  motley  crew. 
Instead  of  the  dark  and  romantic  visages  of  his  last  phantom 
train,  the  Father  beheld  with  strange  concern  the  blue  eyes 
and  flaxen  hair  of  a  Saxon  race.  In  place  of  martial  airs 
and  musical  utterance,  there  rose  upon  the  ear  a  strange 
din  of  harsh  gutturals  and  singular  sibilation.  Instead  of 
the  decorous  tread  and  stately  mien  of  the  cavaliers  of  the 
former  vision,  they  came  pushing,  bustling,  panting,  and  swag 
gering.  And  as  they  passed,  the  good  Father  noticed  that 
giant  trees  were  prostrated  as  with  the  breath  of  a  tornado, 
and  the  bowels  of  the  earth  were  torn  and  rent  as  with  a 
convulsion.  And  Father  Jose  looked  in  vain  for  holy  cross 
or  Christian  symbol ;  there  was  but  one  that  seemed  an 
ensign,  and  he  crossed  himself  with  holy  horror  as  he  per 
ceived  it  bore  the  effigy  of  a  bear. 

"  Who  are  these  swaggering  Ishmaelites  ? "  he  asked, 
with  something  of  asperity  in  his  tone. 

The  stranger  was  gravely  silent. 

"  What  do  they  here,  with  neither  cross  nor  holy  symbol  ? >r 
he  again  demanded. 

"  Have  you  the  courage  to  see,  Sir  Priest  ? "  responded 
the  stranger  quietly. 

Father  Jose'  felt  his  crucifix,  as  a  lonely  traveler  might 
his  rapier,  and  assented. 

"  Step  under  the  shadow  of  my  plume,"  said  the  stranger. 

Father  Jose  stepped  beside  him  and  they  instantly  sank 
through  the  earth. 


394  SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  which  had  remained  closed  in 
prayerful  meditation  during  his  rapid  descent,  he  found 
himself  in  a  vast  vault,  bespangled  overhead  with  luminous 
points  like  the  starred  firmament.  It  was  also  lighted  by  a 
yellow  glow  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  a  mighty  sea  or 
v  lake  that  occupied  the  centre  of  the  chamber.  Around  this 
subterranean  sea  dusky  figures  flitted,  bearing  ladles  filled 
with  the  yellow  fluid,  which  they  had  replenished  from  its 
depths.  From  this  lake  diverging  streams  of  the  same 
mysterious  flood  penetrated  like  mighty  rivers  the  cavernous 
distance.  As  they  walked  by  the  banks  of  this  glittering 
Styx,  Father  Jose  perceived  how  the  liquid  stream  at  certain 
places  became  solid.  The  ground  was  strewn  with  glitter 
ing  flakes.  One  of  these  the  Padre  picked  up  and  curiously 
examined.  It  was  virgin  gold. 

An  expression  of  discomfiture  overcast  the  good  Father's 
face  at  this  discovery ;  but  there  was  trace  neither  of  malice 
nor  satisfaction  in  the  stranger's  air,  which  was  still  of  serious 
and  fateful  contemplation.  When  Father  Jose  recovered 
his  equanimity,  he  said  bitterly,  — 

"  This,  then,  Sir  Devil,  is  your  work !  This  is  your 
deceitful  lure  for  the  weak  souls  of  sinful  nations !  So 
would  you  replace  the  Christian  grace  of  Holy  Spain !  " 

"  This  is  what  must  be,"  returned  the  stranger  gloomily. 
"  But  listen,  Sir  Priest.  It  lies  with  you  to  avert  the  issue 
for  a  time.  Leave  me  here  in  peace.  Go  back  to  Castile, 
and  take  with  you  your  bells,  your  images,  and  your 
missions.  Continue  here,  and  you  only  precipitate  results. 
Stay !  promise  me  you  will  do  this,  and  you  shall  not  lack 
that  which  will  render  your  old  age  an  ornament  and  a 
blessing ; "  and  the  stranger  motioned  significantly  to  the 
lake. 

It  was  here,  the  legend  discreetly  relates,  that  the  Devil 
showed  —  as  he  always  shows  sooner  or  later  —  his  cloven 
hoof.  The  worthy  Padre,  sorely  perplexed  by  this  threefold 


THE   LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DIABLO  395 

vision,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  a  little  nettled  at  thia 
wresting  away  of  the  glory  of  holy  Spanish  discovery,  had 
shown  some  hesitation.  But  the  unlucky  bribe  of  the 
Enemy  of  Souls  touched  his  Castilian  spirit.  Starting  back 
in  deep  disgust,  he  brandished  his  crucifix  in  the  face  of  the 
unmasked  Fiend,  and  in  a  voice  that  made  the  dusky  vault 
resound  cried, — 

"  Avaunt  thee,  Sathanas  !  Diabolus,  I  defy  thee  !  What ! 
wouldst  thou  bribe  me,  —  me,  a  brother  of  the  Sacred  Society 
of  the  Holy  Jesus,  Licentiate  of  Cordova  and  Inquisitor  of 
Guadalaxara  ?  Thinkest  thou  to  buy  me  with  thy  sordid 
treasure  ?  Avaunt !  " 

What  might  have  been  the  issue  of  this  rupture,  and  how 
complete  might  have  been  the  triumph  of  the  holy  Father 
over  the  Arch-Fiend,  who  was  recoiling  aghast  at  these  sacred 
titles  and  the  flourishing  symbol,  we  can  never  know,  for  at 
that  moment  the  crucifix  slipped  through  his  fingers. 

Scarcely  had  it  touched  the  ground  before  Devil  and 
holy  Father  simultaneously  cast  themselves  toward  it.  In 
the  struggle  they  clinched,  and  the  pious  Jose,  who  was  as 
much  the  superior  of  his  antagonist  in  bodily  as  in  spiritual 
strength,  was  about  to  treat  the  Great  Adversary  to  a  back 
somersault,  when  he  suddenly  felt  the  long  nails  of  the 
stranger  piercing  his  flesh.  A  new  fear  seized  his  heart,  a 
numbing  dullness  crept  through  his  body,  and  he  struggled 
to  free  himself,  but  in  vain.  A  strange  roaring  was  in  his 
ears  ;  the  lake  and  cavern  danced  before  his  eyes  and  vanished, 
and  with  a  loud  cry  he  sank  senseless  to  the  ground. 

When  he  recovered  his  consciousness,  he  Mras  aware  of  a 
gentle  swaying  motion  of  his  body.  He  opened  his  eyes, 
and  saw  it  was  high  noon,  and  that  he  was  being  carried  in 
a  litter  through  the  valley.  He  felt  stiff,  and  looking  down, 
perceived  that  his  arm  was  tightly  bandaged  to  his  side. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and,  after  a  few  words  of  thankful 
prayer,  thought  how  miraculously  he  had  been  preserved, 


896  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

and  made  a  vow  of  candlesticks  to  the  blessed  Saint  Jose. 
He  then  called  in  a  faint  voice,  and  presently  the  penitent 
Ignacio  stood  beside  him. 

The  joy  the  poor  fellow  felt  at  his  patron's  returning 
consciousness  for  some  time  choked  his  utterance.  He 
could  only  ejaculate,  "A  miracle!  Blessed  Saint  Jose,  he 
lives  !  "  and  kiss  the  Padre's  bandaged  hand.  Father  Jose, 
more  intent  on  his  last  night's  experience,  waited  for  his 
emotion  to  subside,  and  asked  where  he  had  been  found. 

"  On  the  mountain,  your  Reverence,  but  a  few  varas 
from  where  he  attacked  you." 

"  How  ?  —  you  saw  him  then  ?  "  asked  the  Padre  in 
unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  Saw  him,  your  Reverence  !  Mother  of  God  !  I  should 
think  I  did !  And  your  Reverence  shall  see  him  too,  if  he 
ever  comes  again  within  range  of  Ignacio's  arquebus." 

"  What  mean    you,  Ignacio  ?  "  said  the   Padre,  sitting 
-bolt-upright  in  his  litter. 

"  Why,    the    bear,    your    Reverence,  —  the    bear,    holy 
Father,  who  attacked   your    worshipful  person  while  you 
V^were  meditating  on  the  top  of  yonder  mountain." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  holy  Father,  lying  down  again.  "  Chut, 
child  !  I  would  be  at  peace." 

When  he  reached  the  mission  he  was  tenderly  cared  for, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  was  enabled  to  resume  those  duties 
from  which,  as  will  be  seen,  not  even  the  machinations  of 
the  Evil  One  could  divert  him.  The  news  of  his  physical 
disaster  spread  over  the  country,  and  a  letter  to  the  Bishop 
of  Guadalaxara  contained  a  confidential  and  detailed  ac 
count  of  the  good  Father's  spiritual  temptation.  But  in 
some  way  the  story  leaked  out ;  arid  long  after  Jose*  was 
gathered  to  his  fathers,  his  mysterious  encounter  formed 
the  theme  of  thrilling  and  whispered  narrative.  The  moun 
tain  was  generally  shunned.  It  is  true  that  Senor  JoaquLx 
Pedrillo  afterward  located  a  grant  near  the  base  of  the 


THE   LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DIABLO  397 

mountain ;  but  as  Senora  Pedrillo  was  known  to  be  a 
termagant  half-breed,  the  senor  was  not  supposed  to  be 
over-fastidious. 

Such  is  the  legend  of  Monte  del  Diablo.  As  I  said 
before,  it  may  seem  to  lack  essential  corroboration.  Th.e 
discrepancy  between  the  Father's  narrative  and  the  actual 
climax  has,  given  rise  to  some  skepticism  on  the  part  of 
ingenious  quibblers.  All  such  I  would  simply  refer  to 
that  part  of  the  report  of  Senor  Julio  Serro,  Sub-Prefect 
of  San  Pablo,  before  whom  attest  of  the  above  was  made. 
Touching  this  matter,  the  worthy  Prefect  observes,  "  That 
although  the  body  of  Father  Jose  doth  show  evidence  of 
grievous  conflict  in  the  flesh,  yet  that  is  no  proof  that  the 
Enemy  of  Souls,  who  could  assume  the  figure  of  a  decorous 
elderly  caballero,  could  not  at  the  same  time  transform 
himself  into  a  bear  for  his  own  vile  purposes." 


THE  EIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER 


THE  year  of  grace  1791.  passed  away  on  the  coast  of 
California  in  a  southwesterly  gale.  The  little  bay  of  San 
Carlos,  albeit  sheltered  by  the  headlands  of  the  Blessed 
Trinity,  was  rough  and  turbulent ;  its  foam  clung  quivering 
to  the  seaward  wall  of  the  mission  garden ;  the  air  was 
filled  with  flying  sand  and  spume,  and  as  the  Senor  Coman- 
dante,  Hermenegildo  SaUtatiewa,  looked  from  the  deep 
embrasured  window  of  the  presidio  guardroom,  he  felt  the 
salt  breath  of  the  distant  sea  buffet  a  color  into  his  smoke- 
dried  cheeks. 

The  commander,  I  have  said,  was  gazing  thoughtfully 
from  the  window  of  the  guardroom.  He  may  have  been 
reviewing  the  events  of  the  year  now  about  to  pass  away. 
But,  like  the  garrison  at  the  Presidio,  there  was  little  to 
review.  The  year,  like  its  predecessors,  had  been  unevent 
ful,  —  the  days  had  slipped  by  in  a  delicious  monotony  of 
simple  duties,  unbroken  by  incident  or  interruption.  The 
regularly  recurring  feasts  and  saints'  days,  the  half-yearly 
courier  from  San  Diego,  the  rare  transport-ship  and  rarer 
foreign  vessel,  were  the  mere  details  of  his  patriarchal  life. 
If  there  was  no  achievement,  there  was  certainly  no  failure. 
Abundant  harvests  and  patient  industry  amply  supplied  the 
wants  of  presidio  and  mission.  Isolated  from  the  family 
of  nations,  the  wars  which  shook  the  world  concerned  them 
not  so  much  as  the  last  earthquake ;  the  struggle  that 
emancipated  their  sister  colonies  on  the  other  side  of  the 
continent  to  them  had  no  suggestiveness.  In  short,  it  was 
that  glorious  Indian  summer  of  California!!  history  around 


THE  RIGHT  EYE   OF  THE   COMMANDER  399 

which  so  much  poetical  haze  still  lingers,  —  that  bland, 
indolent  autumn  of  Spanish  rule,  so  soon  to  be  followed  by 
the  wintry  storms  of  Mexican  independence  and  the  reviv 
ing  spring  of  American  conquest. 

The  commander  turned  from  the  window  and  walked 
toward  the  fire  that  burned  brightly  on  the  deep  oven-like 
hearth.  A  pile  of  copy-books,  the  work  of  the  presidio 
school,  lay  on  the  table.  As  he  turned  over  the  leaves  with 
a  paternal  interest,  and  surveyed  the  fair  round  Scripture 
text,  —  the  first  pious  pothooks  of  the  pupils  of  San  Carlos, 
an  audible  commentary  fell  from  his  lips :  "  '  Abimelech 
took  her  from  Abraham '  —  ah,  little  one,  excellent !  — 
1  Jacob  sent  to  see  his  brother '  — body  of  Christ !  that  up 
stroke  of  thine,  Paquita,  is  marvelous ;  the  governor  shall 
see  it !  "  A  film  of  honest  pride  dimmed  the  commander 
left  eye,  —  the  right,  alas !  twenty  years  before  had  been 
sealed  by  an  Indian  arrow.  He  rubbed  it  softly  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  leather  jacket,  and  continued  :  "  '  The  Ishma- 
elites  having  arrived '  "  — 

He  stopped,  for  there  was  a  step  in  the  courtyard,  a  foot 
upon  the  threshold,  and  a  stranger  entered.  With  the 
instinct  of  an  old  soldier,  the  commander,  after  one  glance 
at  the  intruder,  turned  quickly  toward  the  wall,  where  his 
trusty  Toledo  hung,  or  should  have  been  hanging.  But  it 
was  not  there,  and  as  he  recalled  that  the  last  time  he  had 
seen  that  weapon  it  was  being  ridden  up  and  down  the 
gallery  by  Pepito,  the  infant  son  of  Bautista,  the  tortilio- 
maker,  he  blushed,  and  then  contented  himself  with  frown 
ing  upon  the  intruder. 

But  the  stranger's  air,  though  irreverent,  was  decidedly 
peaceful.  He  was  unarmed,  and  wore  the  ordinary  cape  of 
tarpaulin  and  sea-boots  of  a  mariner.  Except  a  villainous 
smell  of  codfish,  there  was  little  about  him  that  was 
peculiar. 

His  name,  as  he  informed  the   commander  in   Spanish 


all 

„ 

en 
,he     I 


400  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

that  was  more  fluent  than  elegant  or  precise,  —  his  name 
was  Peleg  Scudder.  He  was  master  of  the  schooner  Gen 
eral  Court,  of  the  port  of  Salem,  in  Massachusetts,  on  a 
trading  voyage  to  the  South  Seas,  but  now  driven  by  stress 
of  weather  into  the  bay  of  San  Carlos.  He  begged  permis 
sion  to  ride  out  the  gale  under  the  headlands  of  the 
Blessed  Trinity,  and  no  more.  Water  he  did  not  need, 
having  taken  in  a  supply  at  Bodega.  He  knew  the  strict 
surveillance  of  the  Spanish  port  regulations  in  regard  to 
foreign  vessels,  and  would  do  nothing  against  the  severe 
discipline  and  good  order  of  the  settlement.  There  was  a 
slight  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone  as  he  glanced  toward  the 
desolate  parade  ground  of  the  presidio  and  the  open  un- 

r  guarded  gate.  The  fact  was  that  the  sentry,  Felipe  Gomez, 
had  discreetly  retired  to  shelter  at  the  beginning  of  the 
storm,  and  was  then  sound  asleep  in  the  corridor. 

The  commander  hesitated.  The  port  regulations  were 
severe,  but  he  was  accustomed  to  exercise  individual  author 
ity,  and  beyond  an  old  order  issued  ten  years  before,  regard- 

^.ing  the  American  ship  Columbia,  there  was  no  precedent 
to  guide  him.     The  storm  was  severe,  and  a  sentiment  of 

l_ humanity  urged  him  to  grant  the  stranger's  request.      It   is 

but  just  to  the  commander  to  say  that  his  inability  to  en 
force  a  refusal  did  not  weigh  with  his  decision.  He  would 
have  denied  with  equal  disregard  of  consequences  that  right 
to  a  seventy-four-gun  ship  which  he  now  yielded  so  grace 
fully  to  this  Yankee  trading  schooner.  He  stipulated  only 
that  there  should  be  no  communication  between  the  ship 
and  shore.  "  For  yourself,  Senor  Captain,"  he  continued, 
"  accept  my  hospitality.  The  fort  is  yours  as  long  as  you 
shall  grace  it  with  your  distinguished  presence,"  and  with 
old-fashioned  courtesy  he  made  the  semblance  of  withdraw 
ing  from  the  guardroom. 

Master  Peleg  Scudder  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the  half- 
dismantled  fort,  the  two  mouldy  brass  cannon,  cast  in  Ma- 


THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER  401 

nila  a  century  previous,  and  the  shiftless  garrison.  A  wild 
thought  of  accepting  the  commander's  ofi'er  literally,  con 
ceived  in  the  reckless  spirit  of  a  man  who  never  let  slip  an 
offer  for  trade,  for  a  moment  filled  his  brain,  but  a  timely 
reflection  of  the  commercial  unimportance  of  the  transac 
tion  checked  him.  He  only  took  a  capacious  quid  of  to^ 
bacco,  as  the  commander  gravely  drew  a  settle  before  the 
fire,  and  in  honor  of  his  guest  untied  the  black  silk  hand 
kerchief  that  bound  his  grizzled  brows. 

What  passed  between  Salvatierra  and  his  guest  that 
night  it  becomes  me  not,  as  a  grave  chronicler  of  the  sa 
lient  points  of  history,  to  relate.  I  have  said  that  Master 
Peleg  Scudder  was  a  fluent  talker,  and  under  the  influence 
of  divers  strong  waters,  furnished  by  his  host,  he  became 
still  more  loquacious.  And  think  of  a  man  with  a  twenty 
years'  budget  of  gossip  !  The  commander  learned,  for  the 
first  time,  how  Great  Britain  lost  her  colonies ;  of  th« 
French  Revolution  ;  of  the  great  Napoleon,  whose  achieve 
ments,  perhaps,  Peleg  colored  more  highly  than  the  com 
mander's  superiors  would  have  liked.  And  when  Peleg 
turned  questioner,  the  commander  was  at  his  mercy.  He 
gradually  made  himself  master  of  the  gossip  of  the  mission 
and  presidio,  the  "  small  beer "  chronicles  of  that  pastoral 
age,  the  conversion  of  the  heathen,  the  presidio  schools, 
and  even  asked  the  commander  how  he  had  lost  his  eye. 
It  is  said  that  at  this  point  of  the  conversation  Master  Peleg 
produced  from  about  his  person  divers  small  trinkets,  kick 
shaws  and  new-fangled  trifles,  and  even  forced  some  of 
them  upon  his  host.  It  is  further  alleged  that  under  the 
malign  influence  of  Peleg  and  several  glasses  of  aguardiente 
the  commander  lost  somewhat  of  his  decorum,  and  behaved 
in  a  manner  unseemly  for  one  in  his  position,  reciting  high- 
flown  Spanish  poetry,  and  even  piping  in  a  thin  high  voice 
divers  madrigals  and  heathen  canzonets  of  an  amorous  com 
plexion,  chiefly  in  regard  to  a  "  little  one  "  who  was  hia, 


402 


SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 


the  commander's,  "  soul."  These  allegations,  perhaps  _ 
worthy  the  notice  of  a  serious  chronicler,  should  be  re 
ceived  with  great  caution,  and  are  introduced  here  as  simple 
hearsay.  That  the  commander,  however,  took  a  handker 
chief  and  attempted  to  show  his  guest  the  mysteries  of  the 
sembi  cuacua,  capering  in  an  agile  but  indecorous  manner 
about  the  apartment,  has  been  denied.  Enough  for  the 
purposes  of  this  narrative,  that  at  midnight  Peleg  assisted 
his  host  to  bed  with  many  protestations  of  undying  friend 
ship,  and  then,  as  the  gale  had  abated,  took  his  leave  of  the 
presidio,  and  hurried  aboard  the  General  Court.  When 
the  day  broke  the  ship  was  gone. 

I  know  not  if  Peleg  kept  his  word  with  his  host.  It  is 
said  that  the  holy  Fathers  at  the  mission  that  night  heard  a 
loud  chanting  in  the  plaza,  as  of  the  heathens  singing  psalms 
through  their  noses ;  that  for  many  days  after  an  odor  of 
salt  codfish  prevailed  in  the  settlement ;  that  a  dozen  hard 
nutmegs,  which  were  unfit  for  spice  or  seed,  were  found  in 
the  possession  of  the  wife  of  the  baker,  and  that  several 
bushels  of  shoe-pegs,  which  bore  a  pleasing  resemblance  to 
oats,  but  were  quite  inadequate  to  the  purposes  of  pro 
vender,  were  discovered  in  the  stable  of  the  blacksmith. 
But  when  the  reader  reflects  upon  the  sacredness  of  a  Yan 
kee  trader's  word,  the  stringent  discipline  of  the  Spanish 
port  regulations,  and  the  proverbial  indisposition  of  my 
countrymen  to  impose  upon  the  confidence  of  a  simple  peo 
ple,  he  will  at  once  reject  this  part  of  the  story. 

A  roll  of  drums,  ushering  in  the  year  1798,  awoke  the 
commander.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  storm 
had  ceased.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  and  through  the  force  of  habit 
rubbed  his  left  eye.  As  the  remembrance  of  the  previous 
night  came  back  to  him,  he  jumped  from  his  couch  and  ran 
to  the  window.  There  was  no  ship  in  the  bay.  A  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  rubbed  both  of  his 
eyes.  Not  content  with  this,  he  consulted  the  metallic 


THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER  403 

mirror  which  hung  beside  his  crucifix  There  was  no  mis 
take  ;  the  commander  had  a  visible  second  eye,  —  a  right 
one,  —  as  good,  save  for  the  purposes  of  vision,  as  the  left. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  true  secret  of  this  trans 
formation,  but  one  opinion  prevailed  at  San  Carlos.  It  was 
one  of  those  rare  miracles  vouchsafed  a  pious  Catholic 
community  as  an  evidence  to  the  heathen.,,  through  the 
intercession  of  the  blessed  San  Carlos  himself.  That  their 
beloved  commander,  the  temporal  defender  of  the  Faith  . 
should  be  the  recipient  of  this  miraculous  manifestation 
was  most  fit  and  seemly.  The  commander  himself  was 
reticent ;  he  could  not  tell  a  falsehood,  —  he  dared  not  tell 
the  truth.  After  all,  if  the  good  folk  of  San  Carlos  be 
lieved  that  the  powers  of  his  right  eye  were  actually  restored, 
was  it  wise  and  discreet  for  him  to  undeceive  them  ?  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  the  commander  thought  of  policy, 
—  for  the  first  time  he  quoted  that  text  which  has  been  the 
lure  of  so  many  well-meaning  but  easy  Christians,  of  being 
"  all  things  to  all  men.'7  Infeliz  Hermenegildo  Salva- 
tierra  ! 

For  by  degrees  an  ominous  whisper  crept  through  the 
little  settlement.  The  right  eye  of  the  commander,  al 
though  miraculous,  seemed  to  exercise  a  baleful  effect  upon 
the  beholder.  No  one  could  look  at  it  without  winking.  J 
It  was  cold,  hard,  relentless,  and  unflinching.  More  than 
that,  it  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  a  dreadful  prescience,  — - 
a  faculty  of  seeing  through  and  into  the  inarticulate  thoughts 
of  those  it  looked  upon.  The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  obeyed 
the  eye  rather  than  the  voice  of  their  commander,  and  an 
swered  his  glance  rather  than  his  lips  in  questioning.  Th( 
servants  could  not  evade  the  ever-watchful  but  cold  atten 
tion  that  seemed  to  pursue  them.  The  children  of  the 
presidio  school  smirched  their  copy-books  under  the  awful 
supervision,  and  poor  Paquita,  the  prize  pupil,  failed  utterly 
in  that  marvelous  up-stroke  when  her  patron  stood  beside 


404  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

her.      Gradually    distrust,    suspicion,    self-accusation,    and 
timidity  took  the  place  of  trust,   confidence,   and  security 
throughout  San  Carlos.      Wherever    the  right  eye  of    the 
I Commander  fell,  a  shadow  fell  with  it. 

Nor  was  Salvatierra  entirely  free  from  the  baleful  influ 
ence  of  his  miraculous  acquisition.  Unconscious  of  its 
effect  upon  others,  he  only  saw  in  their  actions  evidence  of 
certain  things  that  the  crafty  Peleg  had  hinted  on  that 
eventful  New  Year's  eve.  His  most  trusty  retainers  stam 
mered,  blushed,  and  faltered  before  him.  Self-accusations, 
confessions  of  minor  faults  and  delinquencies,  or  extrava 
gant  excuses  and  apologies  met  his  mildest  inquiries.  The 
very  children  that  he  loved  —  his  pet  pupil,  Paquita  — 
seemed  to  be  conscious  of  some  hidden  sin.  The  result 
of  this  constant  irritation  showed  itself  more  plainly.  For 
the  first  half-year  the  commander's  voice  and  eye  were  at 
variance.  He  was  still  kind,  tender,  and  thoughtful  in 
speech.  Gradually,  however,  his  voice  took  upon  itself 
the  hardness  of  his  glance  and  its  skeptical,  impassive 
quality,  and  as  the  year  again  neared  its  close  it  was  plain 
that  the  commander  had  fitted  himself  to  the  eye,  and  not 
-the  eye  to  the  commander. 

It  may  be  surmised  that  these  changes  did  not  escape 
the  watchful  solicitude  of  the  Fathers.  Indeed,  the  few 
who  were  first  to  ascribe  the  right  eye  of  Salvatierra  to 
miraculous  origin  and  the  special  grace  of  the  blessed  San 
Carlos,  now  talked  openly  of  witchcraft  and  the  agency  of 
Luzbel,  the  evil  one.  It  woulcl  have  fared  ill  with  Her 
menegildo  Salvatierra  had  he  been  aught  but  commander 
or  amenable  to  local  authority.  But  the  reverend  Father, 
Friar  Manuel  de  Cortes,  had  no  power  over  the  political 
executive,  and  all  attempts  at  spiritual  advice  failed  sig 
nally.  He  retired  baffled  and  confused  from  his  first  inter 
view  with  the  commander,  who  seemed  now  to  take  a  grim 
satisfaction  in  the  fateful  power  of  his  glance.  The  holy 


THE   RIGHT  EYE   OF  THE   COMMANDER  405 

Father  contradicted  himself,  exposed  the  fallacies  of  his 
own  arguments,  and  even,  it  is  asserted,  committed  himself 
to  several  undoubted  heresies.  When  the  commander 
stood  up  at  mass,  if  the  officiating  priest  caught  that  skepti 
cal  and  searching  eye,  the  service  was  inevitably  ruined. 
Even  the  power  of  the  Holy  Church  seemed  to  be  lost,  and 
the  last  hold  upon  the  affections  of  the  people  and  the  good 
order  of  the  settlement  departed  from  San  Carlos. 

As  the  long  dry  summer  passed,  the  low  hills  that  sur 
rounded  the  white  walls  of  the  presidio  grew  more  and 
more  to  resemble  in  hue  the  leathern  jacket  of  the  com 
mander,  and  Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  borrowed  his 
dry,  hard  glare.  The  earth  was  cracked  and  seamed  with 
drought ;  a  blight  had  fallen  upon  the  orchards  and  vine 
yards,  and  the  rain,  long  delayed  and  ardently  prayed  for, 
came  not.  The  sky  was  as  tearless  as  the  right  eye  of  the 
commander.  Murmurs  of  discontent,  insubordination,  and 
plotting  among  the  Indians  reached  his  ear ;  he  only  set 
his  teeth  the  more  firmly,  tightened  the  knot  of  his  black 
silk  handkerchief,  and  looked  up  his  Toledo. 

The  last  day  of  the  year  1798  found  the  commander 
sitting,  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayers,  alone  in  the  guard 
room.  He  no  longer  attended  the  services  of  the  Holy 
Church,  but  crept  away  at  such  times  to  some  solitary  spot, 
where  he  spent  the  interval  in  silent  meditation.  The  fire 
light  played  upon  the  low  beams  and  rafters,  but  left  the 
bowed  figure  of  Salvatierra  in  darkness.  Sitting  thus,  he 
felt  a  small  hand  touch  his  arm,  and,  looking  down,  saw 
the  figure  of  Paquita,  his  little  Indian  pupil,  at  his  knee. 
"  Ah  !  littlest  of  all,"  said  the  commander,  with  something 
of  his  old  tenderness,  lingering  over  the  endearing  diminu 
tives  of  his  native  speech,  —  "  sweet  one,  what  doest  thou 
here  ?  Art  thou  not  afraid  of  him  whom  every  one  shuns 
and  fears  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  little  Indian  readily,  "  not  in  the  dark. 


406  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

I  hear  your  voice,  —  the  old  voice  ;  I  feel  your  touch,  —  the 
old  touch ;  but  I  see  not  your  eye,  Senor  Comandante. 
That  only  I  fear,  —  and  that,  0  senor,  0  my  father/'  said 
the  child,  lifting  her  little  arms  towards  his,  —  "  that  I 
know  is  not  thine  own  !  " 

The  commander  shuddered  and  turned  away.  Then, 
recovering  himself,  he  kissed  Paquita  gravely  on  the  fore 
head  and  bade  her  retire.  A  few  hours  later,  when  silence 
had  fallen  upon  the  presidio,  he  sought  his  own  couch  anol 
slept  peacefully. 

At  about  the  middle  watch  of  the  night  a  dusky  figure 
crept  through  the  low  embrasure  of  the  commander's  apart 
ment.  Other  figures  were  flitting  through  the  parade- 
ground,  which  the  commander  might  have  seen  had  he 
not  slept  so  quietly.  The  intruder  stepped  noiselessly  to 
the  couch  and  listened  to  the  sleeper's  deep-drawn  respira 
tion.  Something  glittered  in  the  firelight  as  the_  savage 
lifted  his  arm  ;  another  moment  and  the  sore  perplexities 
of  Hermenegildo  Salvatierra  would  have  been  over,  when 
suddenly  the  savage  started  and  fell  back  in  a  paroxysm  of 
terror.  The  commander  slept  peacefully,  but  his  right 
eye,  widely  opened,  fixed  and  unaltered,  glared  coldly  on 
the  would-be  assassin.  The  man  fell  to  the  earth  in  a  fit, 
and  the  noise  awoke  the  sleeper. 

To  rise  to  his  feet,  grasp  his  sword,  and  deal  blows  thick 
and  fast  upon  the  mutinous  savages  who  now  thronged  the 
room,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Help  opportunely 
arrived,  and  the  undisciplined  Indians  were  speedily  driven 
beyond  the  walls  ;  but  in  the  scuffle  the  commander  received 
a  blow  upon  his  right  eye,  and,  lifting  his  hand  to  that 
mysterious  organ,  it  was  gone.  Never  again  was  it  found, 
and  never  again,  for  bale  or  bliss,  did  it  adorn  the  right 
orbit  of  the  commander. 

With  it  passed  away  the  spell  that  had  fallen  upon  San 
Carlos.  The  rain  returned  to  invigorate  the  languid  soil. 


THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER 


407 


harmony  was  restored  between  priest  and  soldier,  the  green 
grass  presently  waved  over  the  sere  hillsides,  the  children 
flocked  again  to  the  side  of  their  martial  preceptor,  a  Te 
Deum  was  sung  in  the  mission  church,  and  pastoral  content 
once  more  smiled  upon  the  gentle  valleys  oT^SaTr- 
And  far  southward  crept  the  General  Court  with  its  master, 
Peleg  Scudder,  trafficking  in  beads  and  peltries  with  the  In 
dians,  and  offering  glass  eyes,  wooden  legs,  and  other  Boston 
notions  to  the  chiefs. 


THE   LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT 

ON  the  northerly  shore  of  San  Francisco  Bay,  at  a  point 
where  the  Golden  Gate  broadens  into  the  Pacific,  stands  a 
\  bluff  promontory.  It  affords  shelter  from  the  prevailing 
\  winds  to  a  semicircular  bay  on  the  east.  Around  this  bay 
the  hillside  is  bleak  and  barren,  but  there  are  traces  of 
former  habitation  in  a  weather-beaten  cabin  and  deserted 
corral.  It  is  said  that  these  were  originally  built  by  an 
enterprising  s£uat£ej,  who  for  some  unaccountable  reason 
abandoned  them  shortly  after.  The  "jumper"  who  suc 
ceeded  him  disappeared  one  day  quite  as  mysteriously. 
The  third  tenant,  who  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  sanguine, 
hopeful  temperament,  divided  the  property  into  building 
lots,  staked  off  the  hillside,  and  projected  the  map  of  a  new 
metropolis.  Failing,  however,  to  convince  the  citizens  of 
San  Francisco  that  they  had  mistaken  the  site  of  their  city, 
he  presently  fell  into  dissipation  and  despondency.  He 
was  frequently  observed  haunting  the  narrow  strip  of  beach 
at  low  tide  or  perched  upon  the  cliff  at  high  water.  In 
the  latter  position  a  sheep-tender  one  day  found  him,  cold 
and  pulseless,  with  a  map  of  his  property  in  his  hand,  and 
his  face  turned  toward  the  distant  sea. 

Perhaps  these  circumstances  gave  the  locality  its  infeli 
citous  reputation.  Vague  rumors  were  bruited  of  a  super 
natural  influence  that  had  been  exercised  on  the  tenants. 
Strange  stories  were  circulated  of  the  origin  of  the  diaboli 
cal  title  by  which  the  promontory  was  known.  By  some  it 
was  believed  to  be  haunted  by  the  spirit  of  one  of  Sir  Fran 
cis  Drake's  sailors,  who  had  deserted  his  ship  in  conse- 


THE   LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S   POINT  409 

quence  of  stories  told  by  the  Indians  of  gold  discoveries, 
but  who  had  perished  by  starvation  on  the  rocks.  A 
vaquero  who  had  once  passed  a  night  in  the  ruined  cabin 
related  how  a  strangely  dressed  and  emaciated  figure  had 
knocked  at  the  door  at  midnight  and  demanded  food. 
Other  story-tellers,  of  more  historical  accuracy,  roundly  as 
serted  that  Sir  Francis  himself  had  been  little  better  than  a  A 
pirate,  and  had  chosen  this  spot  to  conceal  quantities  of  ill- 
gotten  booty  taken  from  neutral  bottoms,  and  had  protected 
his  hiding-place  by  the  orthodox  means  of  hellish  incanta-  / 
tion  and  diabolic  agencies.  On  moonlight  nights  a  sha-___y 
dowy  ship  was  sometimes  seen  standing  off  and  on,  or  when 
fogs  encompassed  sea  and  shore,  the  noise  of  oars  rising 
and  falling  in  their  rowlocks  could  be  heard  muffled  and 
indistinctly  during  the  night.  Whatever  foundation  there 
might  have  been  for  these  stories,  it  was  certain  that  a  more 
weird  and  desolate-looking  spot  could  not  have  been  selected 
for  their  theatre.  High  hills,  verdureless  and  enfiladed 
with  dark  canadas,  cast  their  gaunt  shadows  on  the  tide.-, 
During  a  greater  portion  of  the  day  the  wind,  which  blew 
furiously  and  incessantly,  seemed  possessed  with  a  spirit  of 
fierce  disquiet  and  unrest.  Toward  nightfall  the  se^-fog 
crept  with  soft  step  through  the  portals  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
or  stole  in  noiseless  marches  down  the  hillside,  tenderly 
soothing  the  wind-buffeted  face  of  the  cliff,  until  sea  and 
sky  were  hid  together.  At  such  times  the  populous  city 
beyond  and  the  nearer  settlement  seemed  removed  to  an  in 
finite  distance.  An  immeasurable  loneliness  settled  upon 
the  cliff.  The  creaking  of  a  windlass,  or  the  monotonous 
chant  of  sailors  on  some  unseen,  outlying  ship,  came  faint 
and  far,  and  full  of  mystic  suggestion. 

About  a  year  ago  a  well-to-do  middle-aged  broker  of  San 
Francisco  found  himself  at  nightfall  the  sole  occupant  of  a  f 
plunger,  encompassed  in  a  dense  fog,  and  drifting  toward 
the  Golden  Gate.      This  unexpected  termination  of  an  after- 


r 


410  SPANISH  AND  AMEKICAN   LEGENDS 

noon's  sail  was  partly  attributable  to  his  want  of  nautical 
skill,  and  partly  to  the  effect  of  his  usually  sanguine  nature. 
Having  given  up  the  guidance  of  his  boat  to  the  wind  and 
tide,  he  had  trusted  too  implicitly  for  that  reaction  which 
his  business  experience  assured  him  was  certain  to  occur  in 
all  affairs,  aquatic  as  well  as  terrestrial.  "  The  tide  will 
turn  soon,"  said  the  broker  confidently,  "or  something  will 
happen.'7  He  had  scarcely  settled  himself  back  again  in 
the  stern-sheets,  before  the  bow  of  the  plunger,  obeying 
some  mysterious  impulse,  veered  slowly  around  and  a  dark 
object  loomed  up  before  him.  A  gentle  eddy  carried  the 
boat  farther  in  shore,  until  at  last  it  was  completely  embayed 
under  the  lee  of  a  rocky  point  now  faintly  discernible 
through  the  fog.  He  looked  around  him  in  the  vain  hope 
of  recognizing  some  familiar  headland.  The  tops  of  the 
high  hills  which  rose  on  either  side  were  hidden  in  the  foe'. 
As  the  boat  swung  around,  he  succeeded  in  fastening  a  line 
to  the  rocks,  arid  sat  down  again  with  a  feeling  of  renewed 
confidence  and  security. 

It  was  very  cold.  The  insidious  fog  penetrated  his 
tightly  buttoned  coat,  and  set  his  teeth  to  chattering  in 
spite  of  the  aid  he  sometimes  drew  from  a  pocket-flask. 
His  clothes  were  wet,  and  the  stern-sheets  were  covered 
with  spray.  The  comforts  of  fire  and  shelter  continually 
rose  before  his  fancy  as  he  gazed  wistfully  on  the  rocks. 
In  sheer  despair  he  finally  drew  the  boat  toward  the  most 
accessible  part  of  the  cliff  and  essayed  to  ascend.  This 
was  less  difficult  than  it  appeared,  and  in  a  few  moments 
he  had  gained  the  hill  above.  A  dark  object  at  a  little 
distance  attracted  his  attention,  and  on  approaching  it 
proved  to  be  a  deserted  cabin.  The  story  goes  on  to  say 
that,  having  built  a  roaring  fire  of  stakes  pulled  from  the 
adjoining  corral,  with  the  aid  of  a  flask  of  excellent  brandy, 
he  managed  to  pass  the  early  part  of  the  evening  with  com 
parative  comfort. 


THE   LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S   POINT  411 

There  was  no  door  in  the  cabin,  and  the  windows  were 
simply  square  openings,  which  freely  admitted  the  searching 
fog.  But  in  spite  of  these  discomforts,  —  being  a  man  oi 
cheerful,  sanguine  temperament,  —  he  amused  himself  by 
poking  the  fire  and  watching  the  ruddy  glow  which  the 
flames  threw  on  the  fog  from  the  open  door.  In  this 
innocent  occupation  a  great  weariness  overcame  him,  and 
he  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  at  midnight  by  a  loud  "  halloo,"  whfch  j 
seemed  to  proceed  directly  from  the  sea.  Thinking  it 
might  be  the  cry  of  some  boatman  lost  in  the  fog,  he  walked 
to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  but  the  thick  veil  that  covered  sea 
and  land  rendered  all  objects  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet 
indistinguishable.  He  heard,  however,  the  regular  strokes 
of  oars  rising  and  falling  on  the  water.  The  halloo  was 
repeated.  He  was  clearing  his  throat  to  reply,  when  to  his 
surprise  an  answer  came  apparently  from  the  very  cabin  he 
had  quitted.  Hastily  retracing  his  steps,  he  was  the  more 
amazed,  on  reaching  the  open  door,  to  find  a  stranger 
warming  himself  by  the  fire.  Stepping  back  far  enough  to 
conceal  his  own  person,  he  took  a  good  look  at  the 
intruder. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  a  cadaverous  face. 
But  the  oddity  of  his  dress  attracted  the  broker's  attention 
more  than  his  lugubrious  physiognomy.  His  legs  were 
hid  in  enormously  wide  trousers  descending  to  his  knee, 
where  they  met  long  boots  of  sealskin.  A  pea-jacket  with 
exaggerated  cuffs,  almost  as  large  as  the  breeches,  covered 
his  chest,  and  around  his  waist  a  monstrous  belt,  with  a 
buckle  like  a  dentist's  sign,  supported  two  trumpet-mouthed 
pistols  and  a  curved  hanger.  He  wore  a  long  queue,  which 
depended  halfway  down  his  back.  As  the  firelight  fell  on 
his  ingenuous  countenance  the  broker  observed  with  some 
concern  that  this  queue  was  formed  entirely  of  a  kind  of 
tobacco  known  as  pigtail  or  twist.  Its  effect,  the  broker 


SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

remarked,  was  much  heightened  when  in  a  moment  of 
thoughtful  abstraction  the  apparition  hit  off  a  portion  of  it 
and  rolled  it  as  a  quid  into  the  cavernous  recesses  of  his 
jaws. 

Meanwhile  the  nearer  splash  of  oars  indicated  the  ap 
proach  of  the  unseen  boat.  The  broker  had  barely  time 
to  conceal  himself  behind  the  cabin  before  a  number  of 
uncouth-looking  figures  clambered  up  the  hill  toward  the 
ruined  rendezvous.  They  were  dressed  like  the  previous 
comer,  who,  as  they  passed  through  the  open  door,  exchanged 
greetings  with  each  in  antique  phraseology,  bestowing  at 
the  same  time  some  familiar  nickname.  Flash-in-the-Pan, 
Spitter-of -Frogs,  Malmsey  Butt,  Latheyard  Will,  and  Mark- 
the-Pinker,  were  the  few  sobriquets  the  broker  remembered. 
Whether  these  titles  were  given  to  express  some  peculiarity 
of  their  owner  he  could  not  tell,  for  a  silence  followed  as 
they  slowly  ranged  themselves  upon  the  floor  of  the  cabin 
in  a  semicircle  around  their  cadaverous  host. 

At  length  Malmsey  Butt,  a  spherical-bodied  man-of-war's- 
man,  with  a  rubicund  nose,  got  on  his  legs  somewhat 
unsteadily,  and  addressed  himself  to  the  company.  They 
had  met  that  evening,  said  the  speaker,  in  accordance  with 
a  time-honored  custom.  This  was  simply  to  relieve  that 
one  of  their  number  who  for  fifty  years  had  kept  watch  and 
ward  over  the  locality  where  certain  treasures  had  been 
buried.  At  this  point  the  broker  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  If 
so  be,  camarados  and  brothers  all/'  he  continued,  "  ye  are 
ready  to  receive  the  report  of  our  excellent  and  well-beloved 
brother,  Master  Slit-the-Weazand,  touching  his  search  for 
this  treasure,  why,  marry,  to  't  and  begin." 

A  murmur  of  assent  went  around  the  circle  as  the 
speaker  resumed  his  seat.  Master  Slit-the-Weazand  slowly 
opened  his  lantern  jaws  and  began.  He  had  spent  much 
of  his  time  in  determining  the  exact  location  of  the  treasure. 
He  believed  —  nay,  he  could  state  positively  —  that  its  posi- 


THE   LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S   POINT  413 

tion  was  now  settled.  It  was  true  he  had  done  some  trifling 
little  business  outside.  Modesty  forbade  his  mentioning 
the  particulars,  but  he  would  simply  state  that  of  the  three 
tenants  who  had  occupied  the  cabin  during  the  past  ten 
years,  none  were  now  alive.  [Applause,  and  cries  of  "  Go 
to !  thou  wast  always  a  tall  fellow  !  "  and  the  like.] 

Mark-the-Pinker  next  arose.  Before  proceeding  to  busi 
ness  he  had  a  duty  to  perform  in  the  sacred  name  of  friend 
ship.  It  ill  became  him  to  pass  a  eulogy  upon  the  qualities 
of  the  speaker  who  had  preceded  him,  for  he  had  known 
him  from  "  boyhood's  hour."  Side  by  side  they  had  wrought 
together  in  the  Spanish  war.  For  a  neat  hand  with  a  Toledo 
he  challenged  his  equal,  while  how  nobly  and  beautifully  he 
had  won  his  present  title  of  Slit-the-Weazand  all  could 
testify.  The  speaker,  with  some  show  of  emotion,  asked  to 
be  pardoned  if  he  dwelt  too  freely  on  passages  of  their  early 
companionship ;  he  then  detailed,  with  a  fine  touch  of 
humor,  his  comrade's  peculiar  manner  of  slitting  the  ears 
and  lips  of  a  refractory  Jew  who  had  been  captured  in  one 
of  their  previous  voyages.  He  would  not  weary  the  patience 
of  his  hearers,  but  would  briefly  propose  that  the  report  of 
Slit-the-Weazand  be  accepted,  and  that  the  thanks  of  the 
company  be  tendered  him. 

A  breaker  of  strong  spirits  was  then  rolled  into  the  hut, 
and  cans  of  grog  were  circulated  freely  from  hand  to  hand. 
The  health  of  Slit-the-Weazand  was  proposed  in  a  neat 
speech  by  Mark-the-Pinker,  and  responded  to  by  the  former 
gentleman  in  a  manner  that  drew  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all 
present.  To  the  broker,  in  his  concealment,  this  momentary 
diversion  from  the  real  business  of  the  meeting  occasioned 
much  anxiety.  As  yet  nothing  had  been  said  to  indicate, 
the  exact  locality  of  the  treasure  to  which  they  had  myste 
riously  alluded.  Fear  restrained  him  from  open  inquiry,  and 
curiosity  kept  him  from  making  good  his  escape  during  the 
or^y  which  followed. 


414  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

But  his  situation  was  beginning  to  become  critical.  Flash- 
in-the-Pan,  who  seemed  to  have  been  a  man  of  choleric 
humor,  taking  fire  during  some  hotly  contested  argument, 
discharged  both  his  pistols  at  the  breast  of  his  opponent. 
The  balls  passed  through  on  each  side  immediately  below 
his  armpits,  making  a  clean  hole,  through  which  the  hor 
rified  broker  could  see  the  firelight  behind  him.  The 
wounded  man,  without  betraying  any  concern,  excited  the 
laughter  of  the  company  by  jocosely  putting  his  arms 
akimbo,  and  inserting  his  thumbs  into  the  orifices  of  the 
wounds  as  if  they  had  been  armholes.  This  having  in  a 
measure  restored  good  humor,  the  party  joined  hands  and 
formed  a  circle  preparatory  to  dancing.  The  dance  was 
commenced  by  some  monotonous  stanzas  hummed  in  a  very 
high  key  by  one  of  the  party,  the  rest  joining  in  the  fol. 
lowing  chorus,  which  seemed  to  present  a  familiar  sound  to 
the  broker's  ear  :  — 

"  Her  Majesty  is  very  sicke, 
Lord  Essex  hath  the  measles, 
Our  Admiral  hath  licked  ye  French  — 
Poppe  !  saith  ye  weasel  !  " 

At  the  regular  recurrence  of  the  last  line,  the  party  dis. 
charged  their  loaded  pistols  in  all  directions,  rendering  the 
position  of  the  unhappy  broker  one  of  extreme  peril  and 
perplexity. 

When  the  tumult  had  partially  subsided,  Flash-in-the- 
Pan  called  the  meeting  to  order,  and  most  of  the  revelers 
returned  to  their  places,  Malmsey  Butt,  however,  insisting 
upon  another  chorus,  and  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice :  — 

"  I  am  ycleped  J.  Keyser  —  I  was  born  at  Spring,  hys  Garden, 
My  father  toe  make  me  ane  clerke  erst  did  essaye, 
But  a  fico  for  ye  offis  —  I  spurn  ye  losels  offeire  ; 
For  I  fain  would  be  ane  butcher  by'r  ladykin  alwaye." 

Flash-in-the-Pan  drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  and  bidding 
some  one  gag  Malmsey  Butt  with  the  stock  of  it,  proceeded 
to  read  from  a  portentous  roll  of  parchment  that  he  held 


THE   LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S   POINT  415 

in  his  hand.  It  was  a  semi-legal  document,  clothed  in  the 
quaint  phraseology  of  a  bygone  period.  After  a  long  pre 
amble,  asserting  their  loyalty  as  lieges  of  her  most  bountiful 
Majesty  and  Sovereign  Lady  the  Queen,  the  document 
declared  that  they  then  and  there  took  possession  of  the 
promontory,  and  all  the  treasure-trove  therein  contained, 
formerly  buried  by  Her  Majesty's  most  faithful  and  devoted 
Admiral  Sir  Francis  Drake,  with  the  right  to  search,  dis 
cover,  and  appropriate  the  same ;  and  for  the  purpose 
thereof  they  did  then  and  there  form  a  guild  or  corporation 
to  so  discover,  search  for,  and  disclose  said  treasures,  and 
by  virtue  thereof  they  solemnly  subscribed  their  names. 
But  at  this  moment  the  reading  of  the  parchment  was 
arrested  by  an  exclamation  from  the  assembly,  and  the 
broker  was  seen  frantically  struggling  at  the  door  in  the 
strong  arms  of  Mark-the-Pinker. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  he  cried,  as  he  made  a  desperate  attempt 
to  reach  the  side  of  Master  Flash-in-the-Pan.  "  Let  me 
go  !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  document  is  not  worth  the 
parchment  it  is  written  on.  The  laws  of  the  State,  the 
customs  of  the  country,  the  mining  ordinances,  are  all 
against  it.  Don't,  by  all  that  's  sacred,  throw  away  such  a 
capital  investment  through  ignorance  and  informality.  Let 
me  go  !  I  assure  you,  gentlemen,  professionally,  that  you 
have  a  big  thing,  —  a  remarkably  big  thing,  and  even  if  I 
ain't  in  it,  I  'm  not  going  to  see  it  fall  through.  Don't,  for 
God's  sake,  gentlemen,  I  implore  you,  put  your  names  to 
such  a  ridiculous  paper.  There  is  n't  a  notary  "  — 

He  ceased.  The  figures  around  him,  which  were  begin 
ning  to  grow  fainter  and  more  indistinct  as  he  went  on, 
swam  before  his  eyes,  flickered,  reappeared  again,  and  finally 
went  out.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  gazed  around  him. 
The  cabin  was  deserted.  On  the  hearth  the  red  embers  of 
his  fire  were  fading  away  in  the  bright  beams  of  the  morn 
ing  sun,  that  looked  aslant  through  the  open  window.  He 


416  SPANISH  AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

ran  out  io  the  cliff.  The  sturdy  sea-breeze  fanned  his  fever- 
ish  cheeks  and  tossed  the  white  caps  of  waves  that  heat  in 
pleasant  music  on  the  heach  below.  A  stately  merchant 
man  with  snowy  canvas  was  entering  the  Gate.  The  voices 
of  sailors  came  cheerfully  from  a  bark  at  anchor  below  the 
point.  The  muskets  of  the  sentries  gleamed  brightly  on 
Alcatraz,  and  the  rolling  of  drums  swelled  on  the  breeze. 
Farther  on,  the  hills  of  San  Francisco,  cottage-crowned  and 
bordered  with  wharves  and  warehouses,  met  his  longing  eye. 
Such  is  the  legend  of  Devil's  Point.  Any  objections  to 
its  reliability  may  be  met  with  the  statement  that  the  broker 
who  tells  the  story  has  since  incorporated  a  company  under 
the  title  of  "  Flash-in-the-Pan  Gold  and  Silver  Treasure 
Mining  Company,"  and  that  its  shares  are  already  held  at  a 
stiff  figure.  A  copy  of  the  original  document  is  said  to  be 
on  record  in  the  office  of  the  company,  and  on  any  clear  day 
the  locality  of  the  claim  may  be  distinctly  seen  from  H»t 
hills  of  San  Francisco. 


THE  ADVENTUEE  OF  PADEE  VICENTIO 

A  LEGEND  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

ONE  pleasant  New  Year's  eve,  about  forty  years  ago, 
Padre  Vicentio  was  slowly  picking  his  way  across  the  sand 
hills  from  the  Mission  Dolores.  As  he  climbed  the  crest  of 
the  ridge  beside  Mission  Creek,  his  broad,  shining  face 
might  have  been  easily  mistaken  for  the  beneficent  image  of 
the  rising  moon,  so  bland  was  its  smile  and  so  indefinite  its 
features.  For  the  Padre  was  a  man  of  notable  reputation 
and  character ;  his  ministration  at  the  Mission  of  San  Jose 
had  been  marked  with  cordiality  and  unction  ;  he  was  adored 
by  the  simple-minded  savages,  and  had  succeeded  in  im 
pressing  his  individuality  so  strongly  upon  them,  that  the 
very  children  were  said  to  have  miraculously  resembled  him 
in  feature. 

As  the  holy  man  reached  the  loneliest  portion  of  the  road, 
he  naturally  put  spurs  to  his  mule  as  if  to  quicken  that  de 
corous  pace  which  the  obedient  animal  had  acquired  through 
long  experience  of  its  master's  habits.  The  locality  had  an 
unfavorable  reputation.  Sailors  —  deserters  from  whale- 
ships  —  had  been  seen  lurking  about  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  and  low  scrub  oaks  which  everywhere  beset  the  trail 
might  have  easily  concealed  some  desperate  runaway.  Be 
sides  these  material  obstructions,  the  Devil,  whose  hostility 
to  the  Church  was  well  known,  was  said  to  sometimes  haunl 
the  vicinity  in  the  likeness  of  a  spectral  whaler,  who  had 
met  his  death  in  a  drunken  bout  from  a  harpoon  in  the 
hands  of  a  companion.  The  ghost  of  this  unfortunate 
mariner  was  frequently  observed  sitting  on  the  hill  toward 


418  SPANISH  AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

the  dusk  of  evening,  armed  with  his  favorite  weapon  and 
a  tub  containing  a  coil  of  line,  looking  out  for  some  belated 
traveler  on  whom  to  exercise  his  professional  skill.  It  is 
related  that  the  good  Father  Jose  Maria  of  the  Mission 
Dolores  had  been  twice  attacked  by  this  phantom  sports 
man;  that  once,  on  returning  from  San  Francisco,  and 
panting  with  exertion  from  climbing  the  hill,  he  was  startled 
by  a  stentorian  cry  of  "  There  she  blows  !  "  quickly  followed 
by  a  hurtling  harpoon,  which  buried  itself  in  the  sand  beside 
him ;  that  on  another  occasion  he  narrowly  escaped  destruc 
tion,  his  serapa  having  been  transfixed  by  the  diabolical 
harpoon  and  dragged  away  in  triumph.  Popular  opinion 
seems  to  have  been  divided  as  to  the  reason  for  the  Devil's 
particular  attention  to  Father  Jose,  some  asserting  that  the 
extreme  piety  of  the  Padre  excited  the  Evil  One's  animosity, 
and  others  that  his  adipose  tendency  simply  rendered  him, 
from  a  professional  view-point,  a  profitable  capture. 

Had  Father  Vicentio  been  inclined  to  scoff  at  this  appa 
rition  as  a  heretical  innovation,  there  was  still  the  story  of 
Concepcion,  the  Demon  Vaquero,  whose  terrible  riata  was 
fully  as  potent  as  the  whaler's  harpoon.  Concepcion,  when 
in  the  flesh,  had  been  a  celebrated  herder  of  cattle  and  wild 
horses,  and  was  reported  to  have  chased  the  Devil  in  the 
shape  of  a  fleet  pinto  colt  all  the  way  from  San  Luis  Obispo 
to  San  Francisco,  vowing  not  to  give  up  the  chase  until  he 
had  overtaken  the  disguised  Arch-Enemy.  This  the  Devil 
prevented  by  resuming  his  own  shape,  but  kept  the  unfor' 
tunate  vaquero  to  the  fulfillment  of  his  rash  vow  ;  and  Con' 
cepcion  still  scoured  the  coast  on  a  phantom  steed,  beguil 
ing  the  monotony  of  his  eternal  pursuit  by  lassoing  travelers, 
dragging  them  at  the  heels  of  his  unbroken  mustang  until 
they  were  eventually  picked  up,  half  strangled,  by  the  road 
side.  The  Padre  listened  attentively  for  the  tramp  of  this 
terrible  rider.  But  no  footfall  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
Dightj  even  the  hoofs  of  his  own  mule  sank  noiselessly  io 


THE   ADVENTUEE   OF   PADRE  VICENTIO  419 

the  shifting  sand.  Now  and  then  a  rabbit  bounded  lightly 
by  him,  or  a  quail  ran  into  the  bushes.  The  melancholy 
call  of  plover  from  the  adjoining  marshes  of  Mission  Creek 
came  to  him  so  faintly  and  fitfully  that  it  seemed  almost  a 
recollection  of  the  past  rather  than  a  reality  of  the  present. 
To  add  to  his  discomposure,  one  of  those  heavy  sea-fogs 
peculiar  to  the  locality  began  to  drift  across  the  hills  and 
presently  encompassed  him.  While  endeavoring  to  evade 
its  cold  embraces,  Padre  Vicentio  incautiously  drove  his 
heavy  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  mule  as  that  puzzled 
animal  was  hesitating  on  the  brink  of  a  steep  declivity. 
Whether  the  poor  beast  was  indignant  at  this  novel  outrage, 
or  had  been  for  some  time  reflecting  on  the  evils  of  being 
priest-ridden,  has  not  transpired  ;  enough  that  he  suddenly 
threw  up  his  heels,  pitching  the  reverend  man  over  his 
head,  and,  having  accomplished  this  feat,  coolly  dropped 
on  his  knees  and  tumbled  after  his  rider. 

Over  and  over  went  the  Padre,  closely  followed  by  his 
faithless  mule.  Luckily  the  little  hollow  which  received 
the  pair  was  of  sand,  that  yielded  to  the  superincumbent 
weight,  half  burying  them  without  further  injury.  For 
some  moments  the  poor  man  lay  motionless,  vainly  en 
deavoring  to  collect  his  scattered  senses.  A  hand  irreve 
rently  laid  upon  his  collar  and  a  rough  shake  assisted  to 
recall  his  consciousness.  As  the  Padre  staggered  to  his 
feet  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  stranger. 

Seen  dimly  through  the  fog,  and  under  circumstances 
that  to  say  the  least  were  not  prepossessing,  the  new-comer 
had  an  inexpressibly  mysterious  and  brigand-like  aspect. 
A  long  boat-cloak  concealed  his  figure,  and  a  slouched  hat 
hid  his  features,  permitting  only  his  eyes  to  glisten  in  the 
depths.  With  a  deep  groan  the  Padre  slipped  from  the 
stranger's  grasp  and  subsided  into  the  soft  sand  again. 

"  Gad's  life ! "  said  the  stranger,  pettishly,  "  hast  no 
more  bones  in  thy  fat  carcass  than  a  jellyfish  ?  Lend  a 


420  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

hand,  here  !  Yo,  heave  ho !  "  and  he  dragged  the  Padre 
into  an  upright  position.  "  Now,  then,  who  and  what  art 
thou  ?  " 

The  Padre  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  question 
.night  have  more  properly  been  asked  by  himself ;  but  with 
an  odd  mixture  of  dignity  and  trepidation  he  began  enumer 
ating  his  different  titles,  which  were  by  no  means  brief,  and 
would  have  been  alone  sufficient  to  strike  awe  in  the  bosom 
of  an  ordinary  adversary.  The  stranger  irreverently  broke 
in  upon  his  formal  phrases,  and  assuring  him  that  a  priest 
was  the  very  person  he  was  looking  for,  coolly  replaced 
the  old  man's  hat,  which  had  tumbled  off,  and  bade  him 
accompany  him  at  once  on  an  errand  of  spiritual  counsel 
to  one  who  was  even  then  lying  in  extremity.  "  To  think," 
said  the  stranger,  "  that  I  should  stumble  upon  the  very 
man  I  was  seeking  !  Body  of  Bacchus  !  but  this  is  lucky  ! 
Follow  me  quickly,  for  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Like  most  easy  natures,  the  positive  assertion  of  the 
•stranger,  and  withal  a  certain  authoritative  air  of  command, 
overcame  what  slight  objections  the  Padre  might  have 
feebly  nurtured  during  this  remarkable  interview.  The 
spiritual  invitation  was  one,  also,  that  he  dared  not  re 
fuse  ;  not  only  that,  but  it  tended  somewhat  to  remove  the 
superstitious  dread  with  which  he  had  begun  to  regard  the 
mysterious  stranger.  But,  following  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance,  the  Padre  could  not  help  observing  with  a  thrill  of 
horror  that  the  stranger's  footsteps  made  no  impression  on 
the  sand,  and  his  figure  seemed  at  times  to  blend  and  incor 
porate  itself  with  the  fog,  until  the  holy  man  was  obliged 
to  wait  for  its  reappearance.  In  one  of  these  intervals  of 
embarrassment  he  heard  the  ringing  of  the  far-off  mission 
bell  proclaiming  the  hour  of  midnight.  Scarcely  had  the 
last  stroke  died  away  before  the  announcement  was  taken 
up  and  repeated  by  a  multitude  of  bells  of  all  sizes,  and  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  striking  clocks  and  the 


THE   ADVENTURE   OF   PADRE  VICENTIO  421 

pealing  of  steeple  chimes.  The  old  man  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm.  The  stranger  sharply  demanded  the  cause.  "  The 
bells !  did  you  not  hear  them  ?  "  gasped  Padre  Vicentio. 
"  Tush  !  tush  !  "  answered  the  stranger,  "  thy  fall  hath  set 
triple  bob-majors  ringing  in  thine  ears.  Come  on !  " 

The  Padre  was  only  too  glad  to  accept  the  explanation 
conveyed  in  this  discourteous  answer.  But  he  was  destined 
for  another  singular  experience.  When  they  had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  eminence  now  known  as  Russian  Hill, 
an  exclamation  again  burst  from  the  Padre.  The  stranger 
turned  to  his  companion  with  an  impatient  gesture,  but 
the  Padre  heeded  him  not.  The  view  that  burst  upon  his 
sight  was  such  as  might  well  have  engrossed  the  attention 
of  a  more  enthusiastic  temperament.  The  fog  had  not  yet 
reached  the  hill,  and  the  long  valleys  and  hillsides  of  the 
embarcadero  below  were  glittering  with  the  light  of  a  popu- 
lous  city.  "  Look  !  "  said  the  Padre,  stretching  his  hand 
over  the  spreading  landscape.  "  Look  !  dost  thou  not  see 
the  stately  squares  and  brilliantly  lighted  avenues  of  a 
mighty  metropolis  ?  Dost  thou  not  see,  as  it  were,  another 
firmament  below  ?  " 

"  Avast  heaving,  reverend  man,  and  quit  this  folly,"  said 
the  stranger,  dragging  the  bewildered  Padre  after  him. 
"  Behold  rather  the  stars  knocked  out  of  thy  hollow  noddle 
by  the  fall  thou  hast  had.  Prithee,  get  over  thy  visions 
and  rhapsodies,  for  the  time  is  wearing  apace." 

The  Padre  humbly  followed  without  another  word.  De 
scending  the  hill  toward  the  north,  the  stranger  leading  the 
way,  in  a  few  moments  the  Padre  detected  the  wash  of 
waves,  and  presently  his  feet  struck  the  firmer  sand  of  the 
beach.  Here  the  stranger  paused,  and  the  Padre  perceived 
a  boat  lying  in  readiness  hard  by.  As  he  stepped  into  the 
stern-sheets,  in  obedience  to  the  command  of  his  compan 
ion,  he  noticed  that  the  rowers  seemed  to  partake  of  the 
misty  incorporeal  texture  of  his  companion,  a  similarity  that 


422  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

became  the  more  distressing  when  he  perceived  also  that 
their  oars  in  pulling  together  made  no  noise.  The  stranger, 
assuming  the  helm,  guided  the  boat  on  quietly,  while  the 
fog,  settling  over  the  face  of  the  water  and  closing  around 
them,  seemed  to  interpose  a  muffled  wall  between  them 
selves  and  the  rude  jarring  of  the  outer  world.  As  they 
pushed  further  into  this  penetralia,  the  Padre  listened  nx- 
iously  for  the  sound  of  creaking  blocks  and  the  rattling  of 
cordage,  but  no  vibration  broke  the  veiled  stillness  or  dis 
turbed  the  warm  breath  of  the  fleecy  fog.  Only  one  inci 
dent  occurred  to  break  the  monotony  of  their  mysterious 
journey.  A  one-eyed  rower,  who  sat  in  front  of  the  Padre, 
catching  the  devout  Father's  eye,  immediately  grinned  such 
a  ghastly  smile,  and  winked  his  remaining  eye  with  such 
diabolical  intensity  of  meaning,  that  the  Padre  was  con 
strained  to  utter  a  pious  ejaculation,  which  had  the  disas» 
trous  effect  of  causing  the  marine  Codes  to  "  catch  a  crab," 
throwing  his  heels  in  the  air  and  his  head  into  the  bottom 
of  the  boat.  But  even  this  accident  did  not  disturb  the 
gravity  of  the  rest  of  the  ghastly  boat's  crew. 

When,  as  it  seemed  to  the  Padre,  ten  minutes  had  elapsed, 
the  outline  of  a  large  ship  loomed  up  directly  across  their 
bow.  Before  he  could  utter  the  cry  of  warning  that  rose  to 
his  lips,  or  brace  himself  against  the  expected  shock,  the 
boat  passed  gently  and  noiselessly  through  the  sides  of  the 
vessel,  and  the  holy  man  found  himself  standing  on  the 
berth-deck  of  what  seemed  to  be  an  ancient  caravel.  The 
boat  and  boat's  crew  had  vanished.  Only  his  mysterious 
friend,  the  stranger,  remained.  By  the  light  of  a  swinging- 
lamp  the  Padre  beheld  him  standing  beside  a  hammock, 
whereon,  apparently,  lay  the  dying  man  to  whom  he  had 
been  so  mysteriously  summoned.  As  the  Padre,  in  obedi 
ence  to  a  sign  from  his  companion,  stepped  to  the  side  of 
the  sufferer,  he  feebly  opened  his  eyes  and  thus  addressed 
him  :  — 


THE   ADVENTURE   OF   PADRE   VICENTIO  423 

"  Thou  seest  before  thee,  reverend  Father,  a  helpless 
mortal,  struggling  not  only  with  the  last  agonies  of  the  flesh, 
but  beaten  down  and  tossed  with  sore  anguish  of  the  spirit. 
It  matters  little  when  or  how  I  became  what  thou  now  seest 
me.  Enough  that  my  life  has  been  ungodly  and  sinful,  and 
that  my  only  hope  of  absolution  lies  in  my  imparting  to  thee 
a  secret  which  is  of  vast  importance  to  the  Holy  Church, 
and  affects  greatly  her  power,  wealth,  and  dominion  on  these 
shores.  But  the  terms  of  this  secret  and  the  conditions  of 
Diy  absolution  are  peculiar.  I  have  but  five  minutes  to  live 
In  that  time  I  must  receive  the  extreme  unction  of  the 
Church." 

"  And  thy  secret  ?  "  said  the  holy  Father. 

"  Shall  be  told  afterwards,"  answered  the  dying  man. 
"  Come,  my  time  is  short.  Shrive  me  quickly." 

The  Padre  hesitated.  "  Couldst  thou  not  tell  this  secret 
first  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  the  dying  man,  with  what  seemed 
to  the  Padre  a  momentary  gleam  of  triumph.  Then,  as  his 
breath  grew  feebler,  he  called  impatiently,  "  Shrive  me ! 
shrive  me  !  " 

"  Let  me  know  at  least  what  this  secret  concerns  ?  "  sug 
gested  the  Padre  insinuatingly. 

"  Shrive  me  first,"  said  the  dying  man. 

But  the  priest  still  hesitated,  parleying  with  the  sufferer 
until  the  ship's  bell  struck,  when,  with  a  triumphant  mock 
ing  laugh  from  the  stranger,  the  vessel  suddenly  fell  to 
pieces,  amid  the  rushing  of  waters  which  at  once  involved 
the  dying  man,  the  priest,  and  the  mysterious  stranger. 

The  Padre  did  not  recover  his  consciousness  until  high 
noon  the  next  day,  when  he  found  himself  lying  in  a  little 
hollow  between  the  Mission  Hills,  and  his  faithful  mule  a 
few  paces  from  him,  cropping  the  sparse  herbage.  The 
Padre  made  the  best  of  his  way  home,  but  wisely  abstained 
from  narrating  the  facts  mentioned  above  until  after  the 


424  SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

discovery  of  gold,  when  the  whole  of  this  veracious  incident 
was  related,  with  the  assertion  of  the  Padre  that  the  secret 
which  was  thus  mysteriously  snatched  from  his  possession 
was  nothing  more  than  the  discovery  of  gold,  years  since, 
by  the  runaway  sailors  from  the  expedition  of  Sir  Francis 
Drake, 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BKOKER 

A  MEDIEVAL  LEGEND 

THE  church  clocks  in  San  Francisco  were  striking  ten. 
The  Devil,  who  had  been  flying  over  the  city  that  evening, 
just  then  alighted  on  the  roof  of  a  church  near  the  corner  of 
Bush  and  Montgomery  streets.  It  will  be  perceived  that 
the  popular  belief  that  the  Devil  avoids  holy  edifices,  and 
vanishes  at  the  sound  of  a  credo  or  paternoster,  is  long 
since  exploded.  Indeed,  modern  skepticism  asserts  that  he 
is  not  averse  to  these  orthodox  discourses,  which  particularly 
bear  reference  to  himself,  and  in  a  measure  recognize  his 
power  and  importance. 

I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  that  his  choice  of  a 
resting-place  was  a  good  deal  influenced  by  its  contiguity  to 
a  populous  thoroughfare.  When  he  was  comfortably  seated, 
he  began  pulling  out  the  joints  of  a  small  rod  which  he 
held  in  his  hand,  and  which  presently  proved  to  be  an  ex 
traordinary  fishing-pole,  with  a  telescopic  adjustment  that 
permitted  its  protraction  to  a  marvelous  extent.  Affixing 
a  line  thereto,  he  selected  a  fly  of  a  particular  pattern 
from  a  small  box  which  he  carried  with  him,  and,  making 
a  skillful  cast,  threw  his  line  into  the  very  centre  of  that 
living  stream  which  ebbed  and  flowed  through  Montgomery 
Street. 

Either  the  people  were  very  virtuous  that  evening,  or  the 
bait  was  not  a  taking  one.  In  vain  the  Devil  whipped  the 
stream  at  an  eddy  in  front  of  the  Occidental,  or  trolled  his 
\ine  into  the  shadows  of  the  Cosmopolitan  ;  five  minutes 
passed  without  even  a  nibble.  "  Dear  me !  "  quoth  the 


426  SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

Devil,  "  that 's  very  singular ;  one  of  my  most  popular 
flies,  too  !  Why,  they  'd  have  risen  by  shoals  in  Broadway 
or  Beacon  Street  for  that.  Well,  here  goes  another."  And 
fitting  a  new  fly  from  his  well-filled  box,  he  gracefully  recast 
his  line. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  every  prospect  of  sport. 
The  line  was  continually  bobbing  and  the  nibbles  were  dis 
tinct  and  gratifying.  Once  or  twice  the  bait  was  apparently 
gorged  and  carried  off  to  the  upper  stories  of  the  hotels,  to 
be  digested  at  leisure.  At  such  times  the  professional 
manner  in  which  the  Devil  played  out  his  line  would  have 
thrilled  the  heart  of  Izaak  Walton.  But  his  efforts  were 
unsuccessful ;  the  bait  was  invariably  carried  off  without 
hooking  the  victim,  and  the  Devil  finally  lost  his  temper. 
"  I  've  heard  of  these  San  Franciscans  before,"  he  muttered. 
"  Wait  till  I  get  hold  of  one,  that  's  all ! "  he  added 
malevolently,  as  he  rebaited  his  hook.  A  sharp  tug  and  a 
wriggle  followed  his  next  trial,  and  finally,  with  considerable 
effort,  he  landed  a  portly  two-hundred-pound  broker  upon 
the  church  roof. 

As  the  victim  lay  there  gasping,  it  was  evident  that  the 
Devil  was  in  no  hurry  to  remove  the  hook  from  his  gills ; 
nor  did  he  exhibit  in  this  delicate  operation  that  courtesy 
of  manner  and  graceful  manipulation  which  usually  distin 
guished  him. 

"  Come,"  he  said  gruffly,  as  he  grasped  the  broker  by  the 
waistband,  "  quit  that  whining  and  grunting.  Don't  flatter 
yourself  that  you  ?re  a  prize,  either.  I  was  certain  to  have 
had  you.  It  was  only  a  question  of  time." 

"  It  is  not  that,  my  lord,  which  troubles  me,"  whined  the 
unfortunate  wretch,  as  he  painfully  wriggled  his  head,  "  but 
that  I  should  have  been  fooled  by  such  a  paltry  bait.  What 
will  they  say  of  me  down  there  ?  To  have  let  '  bigger 
things'  go  by,  and  to  be  taken  in  by  this  cheap  trick,"  he 
added,  as  he  groaned  and  glanced  at  the  fly  which  th«* 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER         427 

Devil  was  carefully  rearranging,  "  is  what,  —  pardon  ine, 
my  lord,  —  is  what  gets  me !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Devil  philosophically,  "  I  never  caught 
Anybody  yet  who  did  n't  say  that  ;  but  tell  me,  ain't  you 
getting  somewhat  fastidious  down  there  ?  Here  is  one 
of  my  most  popular  flies,  the  greenback,"  he  continued, 
exhibiting  an  emerald-looking  insect,  which  he  drew  from 
his  box.  "  This,  so  generally  considered  excellent  in  elec 
tion  season,  has  not  even  been  nibbled  at.  Perhaps  your 
sagacity,  which,  in  spite  of  this  unfortunate  contretemps,  no 
one  can  doubt,"  added  the  Devil,  with  a  graceful  return  to 
his  usual  courtesy,  "  may  explain  the  reason  or  suggest  a 
substitute." 

The  broker  glanced  at  the  contents  of  the  box  with  a 
supercilious  smile.  "  Too  old-fashioned,  my  lord,  —  long 
ago  played  out.  Yet,"  he  added,  with  a  gleam  of  interest, 
"  for  a  consideration  I  might  offer  something  —  ahem  !  — 
that  would  make  a  taking  substitute  for  these  trifles.  Give 
me,"  he  continued,  in  a  brisk,  business-like  way,  "  a  slight 
percentage  and  a  bonus  down,  and  I  'm  your  man." 

"  Name  your  terms,"  said  the  Devil  earnestly. 

"  My  liberty  and  a  percentage  on  all  you  take,  and  the 
thing  's  done." 

The  Devil  caressed  his  tail  thoughtfully  for  a  few 
moments.  He  was  certain  of  the  broker  anyway,  and  the 
risk  was  slight.  "  Done  !  "  he  said. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  the  artful  broker.  "  There  are 
certain  contingencies.  Give  me  your  fishing-rod  and  let 
me  apply  the  bait  myself.  It  requires  a  skillful  hand,  my 
lord  :  even  your  well-known  experience  might  fail.  Leave 
me  alone  for  half  an  hour,  and  if  you  have  reason  to  com 
plain  of  my  success  I  will  forfeit  my  deposit,  —  I  mean  my 
liberty." 

The  Devil  acceded  to  his  request,  bowed,  and  withdrew. 
Alighting  gracefully  in  Montgomery  Street,  he  dropped  into 


428  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

Meade  &  Co.'s  clothing  store,  where,  having  completely 
equipped  himself  k  la  mode,  he  sallied  forth  intent  on  his 
personal  enjoyment.  Determining  to  sink  his  professional 
character,  he  mingled  with  the  current  of  human  life,  and 
enjoyed,  with  that  immense  capacity  for  excitement  peculiar 
to  his  nature,  the  whirl,  bustle,  and  feverishness  of  the 
people,  as  a  purely  aesthetic  gratification  unalloyed  by  the 
cares  of  business.  What  he  did  that  evening  does  not 
belong  to  our  story.  We  return  to  the  broker,  whom  we 
left  on  the  roof. 

When  he  made  sure  that  the  Devil  had  retired,  he  care 
fully  drew  from  his  pocketbook  a  slip  of  paper  and  affixed 
it  on  the  hook.  The  line  had  scarcely  reached  the  current 
before  he  felt  a  bite.  The  hook  was  swallowed.  To  bring 
up  his  victim  rapidly,  disengage  him  from  the  hook,  and 
reset  his  line,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Another  bite 
and  the  same  result.  Another,  and  another.  In  a  very 
few  minutes  the  roof  was  covered  with  his  panting  spoil. 
The  broker  could  himself  distinguish  that  many  of  them 
were  personal  friends  ;  nay,  some  of  them  were  familiar 
frequenters  of  the  building  on  which  they  were  now  miser 
ably  stranded.  That  the  broker  felt  a  certain  satisfaction 
in  being  instrumental  in  thus  misleading  his  fellow-brokers 
no  one  acquainted  with  human  nature  will  for  a  moment 
doubt.  But  a  stronger  pull  on  his  line  caused  him  to  put 
forth  all  his  strength  and  skill.  The  magic  pole  bent  like 
a  coach-whip.  The  broker  held  firm,  assisted  by  the  battle 
ments  of  the  church.  Again  and  again  it  was  almost 
wrested  from  his  hand,  and  again  and  again  he  slowly 
reeled  in  a  portion  of  the  tightening  line.  At  last,  with 
one  mighty  effort,  he  lifted  to  the  level  of  the  roof  a  strug 
gling  object.  A  howl  like  Pandemonium  rang  through  the 
air  as  the  broker  successfully  landed  at  his  feet  —  the  Devil 
himself  ! 

The  two  glared  fiercely  at  each  other.     The  broker,  per- 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER         429 

haps  mindful  of  his  former  treatment,  evinced  no  haste  to 
remove  the  hook  from  his  antagonist's  jaw.  When  it  -was 
finally  accomplished,  he  asked  quietly  if  the  Devil  was 
satisfied.  That  gentleman  seemed  absorbed  in  the  con 
templation  of  the  bait  which  he  had  just  taken  from  his 
;nouth.  "  I  am,"  he  said  finally,  "  and  forgive  you ;  but 
what  do  you  call  this  ?  " 

"  Bend  low,"  replied  the  broker,  as  he  buttoned  up  his 
coat  ready  to  depart.  The  Devil  inclined  his  ear.  "  I  call 
it  WILD  CAT!" 


THE  OGEESS  OF  SILVER  LAND 

OB 

THE    DIVERTING     HISTORY  OF    PRINCE    BADFELLAH    AND 
PRINCE  BULLEBOYE 

IN  the  second  year  of  the  reign  of  the  renowned  Caliph 
Lo  there  dwelt  in  Silver  Land,  adjoining  his  territory,  a 
certain  terrible  Ogress.  She  lived  in  the  bowels  of  a  dismal 
mountain,  where  she  was  in  the  habit  of  confining  such 
unfortunate  travelers  as  ventured  within  her  domain.  The 
country  for  miles  around  was  sterile  and  barren.  In  some 
places  it  was  covered  with  a  white  powder,  which  was  called 
in  the  language  of  the  country  Al  Ka  Li,  and  was  supposed 
to  be  the  pulverized  bones  of  those  who  had  perished  miser 
ably  in  her  service. 

In  spite  of  this,  every  year  great  numbers  of  young  men 
devoted  themselves  to  the  service  of  the  Ogress,  hoping  to 
become  her  godsons,  and  to  enjoy  the  good  fortune  which 
belonged  to  that  privileged  class.  For  these  godsons  had 
no  work  to  perform,  neither  at  the  mountain  nor  elsewhere, 
but  roamed  about  the  world  with  credentials  of  their 
relationship  in  their  pockets,  which  they  called  stokh, 
which  was  stamped  with  the  stamp  and  sealed  with  the 
seal  of  the  Ogress,  and  which  enabled  them  at  the  end  of 
each  moon  to  draw  large  quantities  of  gold  and  silver  from 
her  treasury.  And  the  wisest  and  most  favored  of  those 
godsons  were  the  Princes  Badfellah  and  Bulleboye.  They 
knew  all  the  secrets  of  the  Ogress,  and  how  to  wheedle  and 
coax  her.  They  were  also  the  favorites  of  Soopah  Inten- 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER  LAND  431 

dent,  who  was  her  Lord  High  Chamberlain  and  Prime 
Minister,  and  who  dwelt  in  Silver  Land. 

One  day,  Soopah  Intendent  said  to  his  servants,  "  What 
is  that  which  travels  the  most  surely,  the  most  secretly, 
and  the  most  swiftly  ?  " 

And  they  all  answered  as  one  man,  "  Lightning,  my 
lord,  travels  the  most  surely,  the  most  swiftly,  and  the 
most  secretly  !  " 

Then  said  Soopah  Intendent,  "  Let  Lightning  carry  this 
message  secretly,  swiftly,  and  surely  to  my  beloved  friend? 
the  Princes  Badfellah  and  Bulleboye,  and  tell  them  that 
their  godmother  is  dying,  and  bid  them  seek  some  other 
godmother  or  sell  their  stokh  ere  it  becomes  bad/fee,  — 
worthless." 

"  Bekhesm !  On  our  heads  be  it !  "  answered  the  ser 
vants  ;  and  they  ran  to  Lightning  with  the  message,  who 
flew  with  it  to  the  City  by  the  Sea,  and  delivered  it,  even 
at  that  moment,  into  the  hands  of  the  Princes  Badfellah 
and  Bulleboye. 

Now  the  Prince  Badfellah  was  a  wicked  young  man; 
and  when  he  had  received  this  message  he  tore  his  beard 
and  rent  his  garment  and  reviled  his  godmother  and  his 
f-i«nd  Soopah  Intendent.  But  presently  he  arose,  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  finest  stuffs,  and  went  forth  into  the 
bazpirs  and  among  the  merchants,  capering  and  dancing  as 
he  walked,  and  crying  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Oh,  happy  day  !  Oh, 
day  worthy  to  be  marked  with  a  white  stone  !  " 

This  he  said  cunningly,  thinking  the  merchants  and  men 
of  the  bazaars  would  gather  about  him,  which  they  presently 
did,  and  began  to  question  him :  "  What  news,  0  most 
worthy  and  serene  Highness  ?  Tell  us,  that  we  may  make 
merry  too !  " 

Then  replied  the  cunning  prince,  "  Good  news,  0  my 
brothers,  for  I  have  heard  this  day  that  my  godmother  in 
Silver  Land  is  well."  The  merchants,  who  were  not  aware 


432  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

of  the  substance  of  the  real  message,  envied  him  greatly, 
and  said  one  to  another,  "  Surely  our  brother  the  Prince 
Badfellah  is  favored  by  Allah  above  all  men  ; "  and  they 
were  about  to  retire,  when  the  prince  checked  them,  saying, 
"  Tarry  for  a  moment.  Here  are  my  credentials  or  stokh. 
The  same  I  will  sell  you  for  fifty  thousand  sequins,  for  I 
have  to  give  a  feast  to-day,  and  need  much  gold.  Who 
will  give  fifty  thousand  ?  "  And  he  again  fell  to  capering 
and  dancing.  But  this  time  the  merchants  drew  a  little 
apart,  and  some  of  the  oldest  and  wisest  said,  "  What  dirt 
is  this  which  the  prince  would  have  us  swallow  ?  If  his 
godmother  were  well,  why  should  he  sell  his  stokh  ? 
Bismillah  !  The  olives  are  old  and  the  jar  is  broken  !  " 
When  Prince  Badfellah  perceived  them  whispering,  his 
countenance  fell,  and  his  knees  smote  against  each  other 
through  fear ;  but,  dissembling  again,  he  said,  "  Well,  so 
be  it !  Lo  !  I  have  much  more  than  shall  abide  with  me, 
for  my  days  are  many  and  my  wants  are  few.  Say  forty 
thousand  sequins  for  my  stokh  and  let  me  depart,  in 
Allah's  name.  Who  will  give  forty  thousand  sequins  to 
become  the  godson  of  such  a  healthy  mother  ?  "  And  he 
again  fell  to  capering  and  dancing,  but  not  as  gayly  as 
before,  for  his  heart  was  troubled.  The  merchants,  how 
ever,  only  moved  farther  away.  "  Thirty  thousand  sequins," 
cried  Prince  Badfellah;  but  even  as  he  spoke  they  fled 
before  his  face,  crying,  "  His  godmother  is  dead.  Lo  !  the 
jackals  are  defiling  her  grave.  Mashallah  !  he  has  no  god 
mother."  And  they  sought  out  Panik,  the  swift-footed 
messenger,  and  bade  him  shout  through  the  bazaars  that 
the  godmother  of  Prince  Badfellah  was  dead.  When  he 
heard  this,  the  prince  fell  upon  his  face,  and  rent  his  gar 
ments,  and  covered  himself  with  the  dust  of  the  market 
place.  As  he  was  sitting  thus,  a  porter  passed  him  with 
jars  of  wine  on  his  shoulders,  and  the  prince  begged  him 
to  give  him  a  jar,  for  he  v/as  exceeding  thirsty  and  faint. 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER   LAND  433 

But  the  porter  said,  "  What  will  my  lord  give  me  first  ?  " 
And  the  prince,  in  very  bitterness  of  spirit,  said,  "Take 
this,"  and  handed  him  his  stokh,  and  so  exchanged  it  for  a 
jar  of  wine. 

Now  the  Prince  Bulleboye  was  of  a  different  disposition. 
When  he  received  the  message  of  Soopah  Intendent  he 
bowed  his  head,  and  said,  "  It  is  the  will  of  God."  Then 
he  rose,  and  without  speaking  a  worcTentered  the  gates  of 
his  palace.  But  his  wife,  the  peerless  Maree  Jahann,  per 
ceiving  the  gravity  of  his  countenance,  said,  "Why  is  my 
lord  cast  down  and  silent  ?  Why  are  those  rare  and  price 
less  pearls,  his  words,  shut  up  so  tightly  between  those  gor 
geous  oyster-shells,  his  lips  ?  "  But  to  this  he  made  no 
reply.  Thinking  further  to  divert  him,  she  brought  her 
lute  into  the  chamber  and  stood  before  him,  and  sang  the 
song  and  danced  the  dance  of  Ben  Kotton,  which  is  called 
Ibrahim's  Daughter,  but  she  could  not  lift  the  veil  of  sad 
ness  from  his  brow. 

When  she  had  ceased,  the  Prince  Bulleboye  arose  and 
said,  "  Allah  is  great,  and  what  am  I,  his  servant,  but  the 
dust  of  the  earth  !  Lo  !  this  day  has  my  godmother  sick 
ened  unto  death,  and  my  stokh  become  as  a  withered 
palm-leaf.  Call  hither  my  servants  and  camel  drivers,  and 
the  merchants  that  have  furnished  me  with  stuffs,  and  the 
beggars  who  have  feasted  at  my  table,  and  bid  them  take 
all  that  is  here,  for  it  is  mine  no  longer ! "  W'ith  theses 
words  he  buried  his  face  in  his  mantle  and  wept  aloud. 

But  Maree  Jahann,  his  wife,  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 
"Prithee,  my  lord,"  said  she,  "bethink  thee  of  the  Brokah 
or  scrivener  who  besought  thee  but  yesterday  to  share  thy 
stokh  with  him  and  gave  thee  his  bond  for  fifty  thousand 
sequins."  But  the  noble  Prince  Bulleboye,  raising  his 
head,  said,  "  Shall  I  sell  to  him  for  fifty  thousand  sequins 
that  which  I  know  is  not  worth  a  Soo  Markee  ?  For  is 
not  all  ~h^  Brokah's  wealth,  even  his  wife  and  children, 


434  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

pledged  on  that  bond  ?  Shall  I  ruin  him  to  save  myself  ? 
Allah  forbid !  Rather  let  me  eat  the  salt  fish  of  honest 
penury  than  the  kabobs  of  dishonorable  affluence  ;  rather 
let  me  wallow  in  the  mire  of  virtuous  oblivion  than  repose 
on  the  divan  of  luxurious  wickedness  ! " 

When  the  prince  had  given  utterance  to  this  beautiful 
and  edifying  sentiment,  a  strain  of  gentle  music  was  heard, 
and  the  rear  wall  of  the  apartment,  which  had  been  ingen 
iously  constructed  like  a  flat,  opened  and  discovered  the 
Ogress  of  Silver  Land  in  the  glare  of  blue  fire,  seated  on 
a  triumphal  car  attached  to  two  ropes  which  were  connected 
with  the  flies,  in  the  very  act  of  blessing  the  unconscious 
prince.  When  the  walls  closed  again  without  attracting  his 
attention,  Prince  Bulleboye  arose,  dressed  himself  in  his 
coarsest  and  cheapest  stuffs,  and  sprinkled  ashes  on  his 
head,  and  in  this  guise,  having  embraced  his  wife,  went 
••orth  into  the  bazaars.  In  this  it  will  be  perceived  how 
differently  the  good  Prince  Bulleboye  acted  from  the  wicked 
Prince  Badfellah,  who  put  on  his  gayest  garments,  to  simu 
late  and  deceive. 

Now  when  Prince  Bulleboye  entered  the  chief  bazaar, 
where  the  merchants  of  the  city  were  gathered  in  council, 
he  stood  up  in  his  accustomed  place,  and  all  that  were  there 
held  their  breath,  for  the  noble  Prince  Bulleboye  was  much 
respected.  "  Let  the  Brokah  whose  bond  I  hold  for  fifty 
thousand  sequins  stand  forth  !  "  said  the  prince.  And  the 
Brokah  stood  forth  from  among  the  merchants.  Then  said 
the  prince,  "  Here  is  thy  bond  for  fifty  thousand  sequins, 
for  which  I  was  to  deliver  unto  thee  one  half  of  my  stokh. 
Know,  then,  0  my  brother,  —  and  thou,  too,  0  Aga  of  the 
Brokahs,  —  that  this  my  stokh  which  I  pledged  to  thee  is 
worthless.  For  my  godmother,  the  Ogress  of  Silver  Land, 
is  dying.  Thus  do  I  release  thee  from  thy  bond,  and  from 
the  poverty  which  might  overtake  thee,  as  it  has  even  me, 
thy  brother,  the  Prince  Bulleboye."  And  with  that  the 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER   LAND  435 

noble  Prince  Bulleboye  tore  the  bond  of  the  Brokah  into 
pieces  and  scattered  it  to  the  four  winds. 

Now  when  the  Prince  tore  up  the  bond  there  was  a  great 
commotion,  and  some  said,  "  Surely  the  Prince  Bulleboye 
is  drunken  with  wine  ;  "  and  others,  "  He  is  possessed  of 
an  evil  spirit ;  "  and  his  friends  expostulated  with  him,  say 
ing,  "  What  thou  hast  done  is  not  the  custom  of  the  bazaars, 
—  behold,  it  is  not  Biz  !  "  But  to  all  the  prince  answered 
gravely,  "  It  is  right ;  on  my  own  head  be  it  !  " 

But  the  oldest  and  wisest  of  the  merchants,  they  who  had 
talked  with  Prince  Badfellah  the  same  morning,  whispered 
together,  and  gathered  round  the  Brokah  whose  bond  the 
Prince  Bulleboye  had  torn  up.  "Hark  ye,"  said  they, 
"  o-ur  brother  the  Prince  Bulleboye  is  cunning  as  a  jackal. 
What  bosh  is  this  about  ruining  himself  to  save  thee  ? 
Such  a  thing  was  never  heard  before  in  the  bazaars.  It  is 
a  trick,  0  thou  mooncalf  of  a  Brokah  !  Dost  thou  not  see 
that  he  has  heard  good  news  from  his  godmother,  the  same 
that  was  even  now  told  us  by  the  Prince  Badfellah,  his 
confederate,  and  that  he  would  destroy  thy  bond  for  fifty 
thousand  sequins  because  his  stokh  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand !  Be  not  deceived,  0  too  credulous  Brokah ! 
for  this  that  our  brother  the  prince  doeth  is  not  in  the 
name  of  Allah,  but  of  Biz,  the  only  god  known  in  the  ba 
zaars  of  the  city." 

When  the  foolish  Brokah  heard  these  things  he  cried, 
'*  Justice,  0  Aga  of  the  Brokahs,  — justice  and  the  fulfill 
ment  of  my  bond  !  Let  the  prince  deliver  unto  me  the 
stokh.  Here  are  my  fifty  thousand  sequins."  But  the 
prince  said,  "  Have  I  not  told  thee  that  my  godmother  is 
dying,  and  that  my  stokh  is  valueless  ?  "  At  this  the  Bro 
kah  only  clamored  the  more  for  justice  and  the  fulfillment 
of  his  bond.  Then  the  Aga  of  the  Brokahs  said,  "  Since 
the  bond  is  destroyed,  behold  thou  hast  no  claim.  Go  thy 
ways  !  "  But  the  Brokah  again  cried,  "  Justice,  my  lord 


43  b  SPANISH  AND  AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

Aga  !  Behold,  I  offer  the  prince  seventy  thousand  sequins 
for  his  stokh  !  "  But  the  prince  said,  "  It  is  not  worth  one 
jequin  !  "  Then  the  Aga  said,  "  Bismillah  !  I  cannot  un 
derstand  this.  Whether  thy  godmother  be  dead,  or  dying, 
or  immortal,  does  not  seem  to  signify.  Therefore,  0  prince, 
by  the  laws  of  Biz  and  of  Allah,  thou  art  released.  Give 
the  Brokah  thy  stokh  for  seventy  thousand  sequins,  and 
bid  him  depart  in  peace.  On  his  own  head  be  it !  "  When 
the  prince  heard  this  command,  he  handed  the  stokh  to 
the  Brokah,  who  counted  out  to  him  seventy  thousand 
sequins.  But  the  heart  of  the  virtuous  prince  did  not 
rejoice,  nor  did  the  Brokah  when  he  found  his  stokh  was 
valueless ;  but  the  merchants  lifted  their  hands  in  wonder 
at  the  sagacity  and  wisdom  of  the  famous  Prince  Bulleboye. 
For  none  would  believe  that  it  was  the  law  of  Allah  that 
the  prince  followed,  and  not  the  rules  of  Biz. 


THE  CHRISTMAS   GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO 
EUPEKT 

A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  SOLDIERS 

IT  was  the  Christmas  season  in  Qalifornia,  —  a  season  ^ 
falling  rain  and  springing  grasses.  There  were  intervals 
when,  through  driving  clouds  and  flying  scud,  the  sun 
visited  the  haggard  hills  with  a  miracle,  and  death  and 
resurrection  were  as  one,  and  out  of  the  very  throes  of 
decay  a  joyous  life  struggled  outward  and  upward.  Even 
the  storms  that  swept  down  the  dead  leaves  nurtured  the 
tender  buds  that  took  their  places.  There  were  no  episodes 
of  snowy  silence  ;  over  the  quickening  fields  the  farmer's 
ploughshare  hard  followed  the  furrows  left  by  the  latest 
rains.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that  the  Christmas 
evergreens  which  decorated  the  drawing-room  took  upon 
themselves  a  foreign  aspect,  and  offered  a  weird  contrast 
to  the  roses,  seen  dimly  through  the  windows,  as  the  south 
west  wind  beat  their  soft  faces  against  the  panes. 

"  Now,"  said  the  doctor,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the 
fire,  and  looking  mildly  but  firmly  at  the  semicircle  of 
flaxen  heads  around  him,  "  I  want  it  distinctly  understood 
before  I  begin  my  story,  that  I  am  not  to  be  interrupted  by 
any  ridiculous  questions.  At  the  first  one  I  shall  stop. 
At  the  second,  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  administer  a  dose 
of  castor-oil  all  round.  The  boy  that  moves  his  legs  or 
arms  will  be  understood  to  invite  amputation.  I  have 
brought  my  instruments  with  me,  and  never  allow  pleasure 
to  interfere  with  my  business.  Do  you  promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  six  small  voices  simultaneously.     The 


438  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

volley  was,  however,  followed  by  half  a  dozen  dropping 
questions. 

"  Silence  !  Bob,  put  your  feet  down,  and  stop  rattling 
that  sword.  Flora  shall  sit  by  my  side,  like  a  little  lady, 
and  be  an  example  to  the  rest.  Fung  Tang  shall  stay,  too, 
if  he  likes.  Now,  turn  down  the  gas  a  little  ;  there,  that 
will  do  — just  enough  to  make  the  fire  look  brighter,  and  to 
show  off  the  Christmas  candles.  Silence,  everybody  !  The 
boy  who  cracks  an  almond,  or  breathes  too  loud  over  his 
raisins,  will  be  put  out  of  the  room." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  Bob  laid  his  sword 
tenderly  aside  and  nursed  his  leg  thoughtfully.  Flora, 
after  coquettishly  adjusting  the  pockets  of  her  little  apron, 
put  her  arm  upon  the  doctor's  shoulder,  and  permitted 
herself  to  be  drawn  beside  him.  Fung  Tang,  the  little 
heathen  page,  who  was  permitted,  on  this  rare  occasion,  to 
share  the  Christmas  revels  in  the  drawing-room,  surveyed 
the  group  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once  sweet  and  philoso 
phical.  The  light  ticking  of  a  French  clock  on  the  mantel, 
supported  by  a  young  shepherdess  of  bronze  complexion 
and  great  symmetry  of  limb,  was  the  only  sound  that  dis 
turbed  the  Christmas-like  peace  of  the  apartment,  —  a 
peace  which  held  the  odors  of  evergreens,  new  toys,  cedar 
boxes,  glue,  and  varnish  in  a  harmonious  combination  that 
passed  all  understanding. 

"About  four  years  ago  at  this  time,''  began  the  doctor, 
"  I  attended  a  course  of  lectures  in  a  certain  city.  One  of 
the  professors,  who  was  a  sociable,  kindly  man — though 
somewhat  practical  and  hard-headed  —  invited  me  to  his 
house  on  Christmas  night.  I  was  very  glad  to  go,  as  I  was 
anxious  to  see  one  of  his  sons,  who,  though  only  twelve 
years  old,  was  said  to  be  very  clever.  I  dare  not  tell  you 
how  many  Latin  verses  this  little  fellow  could  recite,  or 
how  many  English  ones  he  had  composed.  In  the  first 
place,  you  'd  want  me  to  repeat  them ;  secondly,  I  'm  not  a 


RUPERT'S  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  439 

judge  of  poetry  —  Latin  or  English.  But  there  were  judges 
who  said  they  were  wonderful  for  a  boy,  and  everybody 
predicted  a  splendid  future  for  him.  Everybody  but  his 
father.  He  shook  his  head  doubtingly  whenever  it  was  .^J 
mentioned,  for,  as  I  have  told  you,  he  was  a  practical, 
matter-of-fact  man. 

"  There  was  a  pleasant  party  at  the  professor's  that  night. 
All    the    children  of    the    neighborhood    were    there,    and 
among  them  the  professor's  clever    son,   Rupert,    as   they 
called  him  —  a  thin  little  chap,  about  as  tall  as  Bobby  there, 
and  fair  and  delicate  as  Flora  by  my  side.     His  health  was  -4 
feeble,  his  father  said ;  he  seldom  ran  about  and  played 
with  other  boys  —  preferring  to  stay  at  home  and  brood       \ 
over  his  books,  and  compose  what  he  called  his  verses. 

"  Well,  we  had  a  Christmas-tree  just  like  this,  and  we 
had  been  laughing  and  talking,  calling  the  names  of  the 
children  who  had  presents  on  the  tree,  and  everybody  was 
very  happy  and  joyous,  when  one  of  the  children  suddenly 
uttered  a  cry  of  mingled  surprise  and  hilarity,  and  said, 
1  Here  's  something  for  Rupert  —  and  what  do  you  think 
it  is  ?  ' 

"  We  all  guessed.  '  A  desk  ; '  '  A  copy  of  Milton ; '  '  A 
gold  pen  ; '  '  A  rhyming  dictionary.'  '  No  ?  what  then  ?  ' 

"  '  A  drum  ! ' 

"  i  A  what  ?  '  asked  everybody. 

"  '  A  drum  !  with  Rupert's  name  on  it.' 

"  Sure  enough,  there  it  was.  A  good-sized,  bright,  new, 
brass-bound  drum,  with  a  slip  of  paper  on  it,  with  the 
inscription,  '  For  RUPERT.' 

"  Of  course  we  all  laughed,  and  thought  it  a  good  joke. 

*  You  see  you  're  to  make  a  noian  in  f.fop.  wpfir^  Tfo).pprf  ! ' 
said  one.      '  Here  's  parchment  for  the  poet,'  said  another. 

*  Rupert's  last  work    in    sheepskin    covers,'   said   a  third. 
'  Give  us  a  classical  tune,  Rupert,'  said  a  fourth,  and  so  on. 
But  Rupert  seemed  too  mortified    to    speak  j  he   changed 


440  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

color,  bit  his  lips,  and  finally  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of 
crying  and  left  the  room.  Then  those  who  had  joked  him 
felt  ashamed,  and  everybody  began  to  ask  who  had  put  the 
drum  there.  But  no  one  knew,  or,  if  they  did,  the  unex 
pected  sympathy  awakened  for  the  sensitive  boy  kept  them 
silent.  Even  the  servants  were  called  up  and  questioned, 
but  no  one  could  give  any  idea  where  it  came  from.  And 
what  was  still  more  singular,  everybody  declared  that  up 
to  the  moment  it  was  produced,  no  one  had  seen  it  hang 
ing  on  the  tree.  What  do  I  think  ?  Well,  I  have  my  own 
opinion.  But  no  questions !  Enough  for  you  to  know  that 
Rupert  did  not  come  downstairs  again  that  night,  and  the 
party  soon  after  broke  up. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  those  things,  for  the  war  of  the 
Rebellion  broke  out  the  next  spring,  and  I  was  appointed 
surgeon  in  one  of  the  new  regiments,  and  was  on  my  way 
to  the  seat  of  war.  But  I  had  to  pass  through  the  city 
where  the  professor  lived,  and  there  I  met  him.  My  first 
question  was  about  Rupert.  The  professor  shook  his 
head  sadly.  '  He  's  not  so  well,'  he  said ;  '  he  has  been 
declining  since  last  Christmas,  when  you  saw  him.  A  very 
strange  case/  he  added,  giving  it  a  long  Latin  name,  'a 
very  singular  case.  But  go  and  see  him  yourself,'  he  urged  ; 
*  it  may  distract  his  mind  and  do  him  good.' 

"  I  went  accordingly  to  the  professor's  house,  and  found 
Rupert  lying  on  a  sofa  propped  up  with  pillows.  Around 
him  were  scattered  his  books,  and,  what  seemed  in  singular 
contrast,  that  drum  I  told  you  about  was  hanging  on  a  nail 
just  above  his  head.  His  face  was  thin  and  wasted  ;  there 
was  a  red  spot  on  either  cheek,  and  his  eyes  were  very 
bright  and  widely  opened.  He  was  glad  to  see  me,  and 
when  I  told  him  where  I  was  going,  he  asked  a  thousand 
questions  about  the  war.  I  thought  I  had  thoroughly 
diverted  his  mind  from  its  sick  and  languid  fancies,  when 
he  suddenly  grasped  my  hand  and  drew  me  towards  him. 


RUPERT'S  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  441 

" i  Doctor,'  said  he,  in  a  low  whisper,  '  you  won't  laugh 
at  me  if  I  tell  you  something  ?  ' 

"  '  No,  certainly  not/  I  said. 

"  '  You  remember  that  drum  ? '  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
glittering  toy  that  hung  against  the  wall.  '  You  know,  too, 
how  it  came  to  me.  A  few  weeks  after  Christmas  I  was 
lying  half  asleep  here,  and  the  drum  was  hanging  on  the 
wall,  when  suddenly  I  heard  it  beaten  ;  at  first  low  and 
slowly,  then  faster  and  louder,  until  its  rolling  filled  the 
house.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  heard  it  again.  I  did 
not  dare  to  tell  anybody  about  it,  but  I  have  heard  it  every 
night  ever  since.' 

"  He  paused  and  looked  anxiously  in  my  face.  '  Some 
times,'  he  continued,  '  it  is  played  softly,  sometimes  loudly, 
but  always  quickening  to  a  long  roll,  so  loud  and  alarming 
that  I  have  looked  to  see  people  coming  into  my  room  to 
ask  what  was  the  matter.  But  I  think,  doctor  —  I  think,' 
he  repeated  slowly,  looking  up  with  painful  interest  into  my 
face,  '  that  no  one  hears  it  but  myself.' 

"  I  thought  so,  too,  but  I  asked  him  if  he  had  heard  it 
at  any  other  time. 

" '  Once  or  twice  in  the  daytime,'  he  replied,  '  when  I 
have  been  reading  or  writing ;  then  very  loudly,  as  though 
it  were  angry,  and  tried  in  that  way  to  attract  my  attention 
away  from  rny  books.' 

"  I  looked  into  his  face  and  placed  my  hand  upon  his 
pulse.  His  eyes  were  very  bright  and  his  pulse  a  little 
flurried  and  quick.  I  then  tried  to  explain  to  him  that  he 
was  very  weak,  and  that  his  senses  were  very  acute,  as  most 
weak  people's  are  ;  and  how  that  when  he  read,  or  grew 
interested  and  excited,  or  when  he  was  tired  at  night,  the 
throbbing  of  a  big  artery  made  the  beating  sound  he  heard. 
He  listened  to  me  with  a  sad  smile  of  unbelief,  but  thanked 
me,  and  in  a  little  while  I  went  away.  But  as  I  was  going 
downstairs  I  met  the  professor.  I  gave  him  my  opinion  ol 
the  case  —  Well,  no  matter  what  it  was. 


442  SPANISH   AND   AMERICAN   LEGENDS 

"  '  He  wants  fresh  air  and  exercise,'  said  the  professor, 
'and  some  practical  experience  of  life,  sir.'  The  professor 
was  not  a  bad  man,  but  he  was  a  little  worried  and  impa 
tient,  and  thought  —  as  clever  people  are  apt  to  think  —  that 
things  which  he  didn't  understand  were  either  silly  or 
improper. 

"  I  left  the  city  that  very  day,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
battlefields  and  hospitals  I  forgot  all  about  little  Rupert, 
nor  did  I  hear  of  him  again,  until  one  day,  meeting  an  old 
classmate  in  the  army,  who  had  known  the  professor,  he 
told  me  that  Rupert  had  become  quite  insane,  and  that  in 
one  of  his  paroxysms  he  had  escaped  from  the  house,  and 
as  he  had  never  been  found,  it  was  feared  that  he  had  fallen 
into  the  river  and  was  drowned.  I  was  terribly  shocked  for 
the  moment,  as  you  may  imagine  ;  but,  dear  me,  I  was 
living  just  then  among  scenes  as  terrible  and  shocking,  and 
I  had  little  time  to  spare  to  mourn  over  poor  Rupert. 

"  It  was  not  long  after  receiving  this  intelligence  that  we 
had  a  terrible  battle,  in  which  a  portion  of  our  army  was 
slaughtered.  I  was  detached  from  my  brigade  to  ride  over 
to  the  battlefield  and  assist  the  surgeons  of  the  beaten 
division,  who  had  more  on  their  hands  than  they  could 
attend  to.  When  I  reached  the  barn  that  served  for  a  tem 
porary  hospital,  I  went  at  once  to  work.  Ah  !  Bob,"  said 
the  doctor  thoughtfully,  taking  the  bright  sword  from  the 
hands  of  the  half-frightened  Bob,  and  holding  it  gravely 
before  him,  "  these  pretty  playthings  are  symbols  of  cruel, 
ugly  realities." 

"  I  turned  to  a  tall,  stout  Vermonter,"  he  continued,  very 
slowly,  tracing  a  pattern  on  the  rug  with  the  point  of  the 
scabbard,  "  who  was  badly  wounded  in  both  thighs,  but  he 
held  up  his  hands  and  begged  me  to  help  others  first  who 
needed  it  more  than  he.  I  did  not  at  first  heed  his  request, 
for  this  kind  of  unselfishness  was  very  common  in  the  army  ; 
but  he  went  on,  '  For  God's  sake,  doctor,  leave  me  here ; 


RUPERT'S   CHRISTMAS   GIFT  443 

there  is  a  drummer  boy  of  our  regiment  —  a  mere  child  — 
dying,  if  he  is  n't  dead  now.  Go  and  see  him  first.  He 
lies  over  there.  He  saved  more  than  one  life.  He  was  at 
his  post  in  the  panic  of  this  morning,  and  saved  the  honor 
of  the  regiment.'  I  was  so  much  more  impressed  by  the 
man's  manner  than  by  the  substance  of  his  speech,  which 
was,  however,  corroborated  by  the  other  poor  fellows 
stretched  around  me,  that  I  passed  over  to  where  the 
drummer  lay,  with  his  drum  beside  him.  I  gave  one  glance 
at  his  face  —  and  —  yes,  Bob  —  yes,  my  children  —  it  was 
Rupert. 

"  Well !  well !  it  needed  not  the  chalked  cross  which  my 
brother  surgeons  had  left  upon  the  rough  board  whereon  he 
lay  to  show  how  urgent  was  the  relief  he  sought ;  it  needed 
not  the  prophetic  words  of  the  Vermonter,  nor  the  damp 
that  mingled  with  the  brown  curls  that  clung  to  his  pale 
forehead,  to  show  how  hopeless  it  was  now.  I  called  him 
by  name.  He  opened  his  eyes  —  larger,  I  thought,  in  the 
new  vision  that  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  him  —  and 
recognized  me.  He  whispered,  'I'm  glad  you  are  come, 
but  I  don't  think  you  can  do  me  any  good.' 

"  I  could  not  tell  him  a  lie.  I  could  not  say  anything. 
I  only  pressed  his  hand  in  mine  as  he  went  on. 

"  '  But  you  will  see  father,  and  ask  him  to  forgive  me. 
Nobody  is  to  blame  but  myself.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
I  understood  why  the  drum  came  to  me  that  Christmas 
night,  and  why  it  kept  calling  to  me  every  night,  and  what 
it  said.  I  know  it  now.  The  work  is  done,  and  I  am  con 
tent.  Tell  father  it  is  better  as  it  is.  I  should  have  lived 
only  to  worry  and  perplex  him,  and  something  in  me  tells 
me  this  is  right.' 

"  He  lay  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  grasping  my  hand, 
said, — 

"'Hark!' 

"  I  listened,  but  heard  nothing  but  the  suppressed  moans 


*44  SPANISH   AND  AMERICAN  LEGENDS 

jf  the  wounded  men  around  me.  'The  drum/  he  said 
faintly  ;  '  don't  you  hear  it  ?  —  the  drum  is  calling  me.7 

"  He  reached  out  his  arm  to  where  it  lay,  as  though  he 
flrould  embrace  it. 

" '  Listen  '  —  he  went  on  —  l  it  's  the  reveille.  There  are 
the  ranks  drawn  up  in  review.  Don't  you  see  the  sunlight 
flash  down  the  long  line  of  bayonets  ?  Their  faces  are 
shining  —  they  present  arms  —  there  comes  the  General  — 
but  his  face  I  cannot  look  at  for  the  glory  round  his  head. 
He  sees  me ;  he  smiles,  it  is '  —  and  with  a  name  upon  his 
lips  that  he  had  learned  long  ago,  he  stretched  himself 
wearily  upon  the  planks  and  lay  quite  still. 

"That's  all. 

"  No  questions  now  —  never  mind  what  became  of  the 
irum. 

"Who's  that  sniveling? 

"  Bless  my  soul !  where  's  my  pill-box.  ?  " 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


DEC    6  73-4 


_. 


,  ;• 


IN  STACKS      FEB  1  0 


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